Broken Home
by thrillergirl
Summary: A series of one-shot scenes taking place during the events of my main story "Home is where the heart is". Sets in a "Home Alone" AU, where old man Marley was not there to save Kevin at the end of the original Home Alone.
1. Coming Home

_Hello dear reader,_

 _These are a series of one-shot scenes from the McCallisters side of the story taking place during the event of my main story "Home is where the heart is". Sets in a "Home Alone" AU, where old man Marley was not there to save Kevin at the end of the original Home Alone._

 _Enjoy!_

Broken Home

Coming Home

 _December 25, 1990_

I'll never forget that Christmas morning of 1990.  
None of us ever will.

It was snowing when our taxi came to a halt in front of the house. It was early in the morning, and we were all tired after our emergency flight back from Paris. God it was good to be home. My sisters had been disappointed to see their magical holiday in the city of lights cut short because of our idiotic brother, but I didn't mind. Ever since I had learned that the nude beaches were closed in winter, I had more or less lost interest in France. Though I'd never admit it, I was pleased to be home for Christmas.

The neighborhood was so quiet; the houses on each side of the street looked asleep under their snowy coat. My sister Linnie sighed next to me.

"Oh, it's a winter wonderland!"

I smirked, wondering how long she'd keep thinking that when our father would oust us all outside to shovel the driveway. At the moment, I could tell he had more important things on his mind as he impatiently led the way to the house. Oh, he kept smiling and pretending to be amused by this adventure, but I could tell my father was worried about Kevin. As he climbed the stairs, my siblings and I were horrified to see him suddenly slipped on a hidden patch of ice. Our father grabbed on the railing in time to avoid what would have been a dangerous fall. He recovered nervously, laughing it off.

"Everybody, hold on! Buzz, remind me to salt the stairs later."

We made our way into the hall, carrying our luggage. My siblings and I were bickering over some silly nonsense as usual, which is why I didn't notice the cold right away. It was after putting my bag down and taking off my coat that I sensed the abnormal low temperature in the house. Our old furnace had been giving us trouble since the early autumn; I assumed it was acting up again.

"Kevin? Kate? Anybody home?" called my father.

"Careful!" warned Linnie, holding him back "Good god, what did Kevin do?" she asked lightly. "His micro machines are everywhere!"

My sister was right. The toys were littered all over the foyer! I was both annoyed and gleeful at the discovery. I knew Kevin would find a way to mess up in our absence. Count on him to ruin the holidays by breaking all of our necks! I kicked a few toy cars out of the way and growled:

"Oh great, what did the little twerp do this time!"

"Are those feathers in the dining room?" added Megan, frowning. "If he ruined mom's new pillows, she's going to kill him!"

"Whatever he did, I am not picking it up!" I stated shaking my head.

"What's with the paint cans?" laughed Jeff, pointing to the two cans hanging from the staircases.

We all paused to look at the strange sight. Why _would_ Kevin hang paint cans in the staircase? That's when our mother came racing through the dining room.

"Peter! I can't find Kevin!"

My mother looked besides herself. She was as white as a sheet and held on to my father, shaking. I'm not even sure she was aware of our presence. We all stared at her, and I swallowed my snappy come back when I saw how her eyes were wild with fear.

"What? Kate, what do you mean? Where-

– I can't find Kevin!" repeated my mother, near hysterical. "The back door… I think the back door's broken, there's broken glass, and blood in the living room, and Peter I can't find Kevin _anywhere_!"

I saw the blood drain from my father's face, as he stood there, frozen. I was fifteen, the elder of the family, and I was shaken to the core by the look of anguish in his eyes that mirrored my mother's. Parents are never supposed to be afraid.

"Dad? What's going on?" asked Jeff.

He didn't get it. I don't think any of us grasped the seriousness of the situation.

"Kate, listen to me." My father said in a voice he probably hoped was reassuring.

I didn't buy it.

He was scared shitless.

"I want you to take the kids, go to the neighbors, and call the police."

I don't think my mother heard a word he said.

"Where is he, Peter? Where's my baby?"

As I listened to my mother pleading with my father like that, as if he could somehow magically produce Kevin out of thin air, I was overwhelmed with anger directed at none other than my brother. Kevin was playing a sick joke. The little prick was pissed we had forgotten him, and he had decided to take his revenge by staging all this. He was probably hidden somewhere, laughing at us, the bastard.

"Kate, go the neighbors-"

My father tried to pry my mother's fingers from his coat.

"We left him alone, Peter.

– Kate-

– We left him alone and now he's _gone_!"

This entire situation was absurd. I couldn't help it, I laughed. Kevin couldn't be gone. Where would he go?

"Mom, Kevin's just being a jerk.

– Buzz, do as I say and go with your mother!" yelled my father.

Besides me, Megan flinched. Our father never raised his voice. Not when our dog ate his fishing rod, not when Jeff crashed his bike into the new car, not when Linnie finger-painted the walls of her bedroom, not when he caught Megan smoking with her friends behind the garage, or even when I was suspended for shoving some geek in his locker. My father did not yell. That's when I realised something bad, _really_ bad, must've happened.

Linnie's the one who stepped up. She took a hold of our mother's coat and led her towards the door.

"Mom, come. Let's go see Mr. Marley. I bet he knows where Kevin is."

My siblings followed with worried expressions. I did not. I could not. I was still in denial over the whole thing. Kevin could not be gone. He was somewhere in the house. He had to be.

I followed my father as he cautiously stepped in the living room. Christmas lights first caught my eyes. A small lighted Christmas tree stood in a corner of the room. Kevin… He always liked Christmas trees and had been in despair when our parents decided we wouldn't decorate one this year given that we would be spending the holidays in Paris.

Looks like he had his Christmas tree after all.

I refused to dwell on that thought too long. I didn't see anything sinister at first until my father knell besides the tree to look at some broken ornaments. As my mother had told us, there were specks of blood on the floor and carpet. There wasn't much blood, but I didn't like it. Too many ornaments had been broken. Those hadn't been dropped. Following my father's movement, I saw him raise his eyes to the window behind the tree.

It was open.

Why would Kevin open a window in the middle of winter? My brother wasn't that stupid.

"Buzz, go wait outside." ordered my father as he rose to his feet.

The gravity of his tone terrified me. I refused to take all this information for what it was. My brother was fine, he was _okay_! I just had to find him. And when I got my hands on him…

"No! I'm going to find Kevin!

– Buzz!"

But I didn't listen to my father as I ran up the stairs, calling Kevin's name at top of my voice. My first stop was my parents' room. If Kevin was hiding somewhere, that's where he'd be. The bedsheets were thrown back and I was pained to see our framed family picture halfway tucked under a pillow. Kevin had been here, no doubt about it.

"Kevin? You here?"

I dropped to the floor and looked under the bed. No Kevin. I opened the closet, but no trace of my bratty brother. I ran from one room to the next, checking every hiding spot Kevin used when we played hide-and-seek, but he was nowhere to be found.

I would not be afraid; I refused to be afraid, or think too hard over what might've happened. Racing all over the place, my feet were caught on something and I fell over, biting my tongue in the process. Confused, I didn't feel the pain or taste the blood in my mouth. I looked back and saw a trip wire running across the hall a few feet away from my room. What the… Did Kevin set this up? The paint cans, the micro machines, the feathers. What exactly had happened while we were gone? It was as if Kevin had designed some traps, but why? To keep intruders away? He wouldn't, would he? My brother was smarter than that; if someone had tried to break-in, he would've called the cops, and ran. That's what smart people did, and Kevin was nothing if not smart, so where was he?

I got to my feet and unhooked the trip wire in case my dad came up this way. Swallowing hard, I moved to the next room. My room.

It had been destroyed.

It was the only way to describe it. All the shelves that covered one of my walls were broken with my stuff scattered all over the floor. My trunk lay opened, my pellet gun was missing, my Michael Jordan cardboard poster had been cut for some reason, and Axl's terrarium lay on its side with no trace of my eight-legged friend. By then, I was so freaked out that the destruction of my room did not anger me. I still checked under the bed, and in my closet, but no Kevin.

I was about to enter my sisters' room when a cold draft of air made me stop, mid-step. The third floor door lay ajar. Why would Kevin go up there? He hated the third floor as much as he hated the basement. But the lights were turned on. Someone had been there. I climbed up the stairs, my heart pounding.

"Kev? This isn't funny…"

I no longer expected an answer. What I wanted was for something, someone to prove me wrong. Before I reached the third floor, I understood where the draft was coming from; the window overlooking our garden was wide open. I found my pellet gun resting against the stairs railing. There was a rope attached to one of the beams hanging out the window. I looked down but didn't see anything. In the distance, I saw a light shining in our tree house. Hope flared for about a second, but like the rest of our house, it was empty.

"Buzz." I whirled around and saw my father in the stairs. "We should wait outside. The police are on their way."

"But Kevin-

– Buzz" cut in my father. "Someone's been in the house. They could still be here. I need you to wait outside.

– But… what about Kevin?"

I saw a haunted look cross my father's face.

He had no answer.

Five houses on our block had been broken into that holiday season. They had all been robbed and flooded, except for our house. Our house had clearly been broken into, but the only thing missing was my brother Kevin.


	2. Nightfall

Nightfall

 _December 30, 1990_

The cops invaded our house for days, taking picture, dusting for prints, interviewing neighbors, or at least those that were around. We couldn't stay in our house and had to relocate with our unpacked luggage to a nearby hotel.

My mother spent those first few days in bed, sedated. The stress of traveling all over the country in hopes of getting to Kevin, only to find out the worst had happened in our absence proved too much for her.

My father barely fared any better. He carried on because he had no other options, but there wasn't much he could do. Once the initial interviews with the police were over, he spent hours on the phone with my uncles in France. I saw how his hands were shaking as he paced the floor of the room. Up and down, up and down. Following him around the room made me dizzy and had to look away.

He delayed calling our grandmother Penelope as long as he could. It was only after the police informed him that the media would be reporting the news of Kevin's disappearance that he picked up the phone one more time to call his mother-in-law, and let her know what had happened.

Even from the other side of the suite our family occupied, my siblings and I jumped at the sound of our grandmother screeching at our father over the phone:

" _Alone_? How could you leave him alone! Why didn't you call me!"

My grandmother, that sweet woman that had nothing but kind words to everyone… _screeching_! At my father, whom she always liked, no less!

My father looked shattered at her rebuke. He was too polite to remind my grandmother that living in South Carolina with a heart condition; she never would've been able to travel all the way to Chicago to take care of Kevin. And since my mother had been unable to secure a plane in the middle of the Christmas holidays, I seriously doubted she would've had any more luck.

My father did not smoke, but after that call, he sure looked like he could use a cigarette. Or a drink. While my siblings were not looking, I opened the room's mini bar, and poured him a whisky. I'm not even sure he liked whisky, but he didn't push the glass away when I put it in his hand. He didn't thank me, but squeezed my shoulder.

I couldn't sit down, or sleep, and kept watch at the window. I don't know what I was waiting for. The police? My brother Kevin? All I could do was watch the passing cars, and curse the falling snow. Megan and Linnie were huddled together on the couch. Jeff sat on the carpet in front of them, hugging his knees to his chest. On the television, some holiday special was on, but none of us listened.

Whatever festive mood we had managed to salvage during our trip back from Paris had died upon arriving home. There was no mention of gifts, dinner or parties.

There would be no Christmas celebration for our family that year.

Nor for many years to come for that matter.

"But where's Kevin?" Jeff kept asking every few minutes.

"We don't know, Jeff." Megan would remind him.

"But they're going to find him. The police, they're going to find him, right?

– Of course they are. They do this all the time..." Megan lied, running her fingers through his hair.

I did not call out her lie. I wanted to believe her as much as Jeff did. As for the police doing this all the time, that may be true on television, but the Winnetka police department were way out of their depths. They could deal with petty crimes, shoplifters, vandalism and parking tickets, but they had never dealt with anything as serious as kidnapping.

Growing up with police shows and fast-paced action movies, I expected a lot from our police force. Too much, it would seem. Where were the helicopters? The K-9 units? Why weren't cops searching the streets, banging on doors, interrogating people? They moved so slowly, it's as if they weren't doing anything at all. Damn, didn't they know that time was of the essence? That line may be a movie cliché, but it was also a fact. It had been both frustrating and eye opening to watch our small police force struggle with how to handle the situation. With the holidays in full swing, it had taken them a day to call their home office at the Chicago police department who in turn scolded them for not calling the feds immediately.

The FBI.

I hadn't expected them to be called. Not so soon. There hadn't even been a ransom note! With their intervention came fear; I knew the feds would only be involved in interstate cases. That's when I realised that, for all we knew, Kevin might be on the other side of the country by now. I kept that information to myself. I'm sure it must've crossed my parents' mind, but I did not want to worry my siblings any more than they already were. Kevin's disappearance was getting more and more serious as the days passed, and yet I didn't see anyone actively looking for him.

"Shouldn't they have found him by now? Why is it taking so long?"

There was quiet desperation in Jeff's voice. I closed my eyes and balled my fists. I could tell it was his way of coping with the situation, but I wished he would shut up.

"The police will let us know, don't worry." Megan did her best to reassure him.

Megan had been doing a lot of reassuring over the past few days. As the elder, I felt this responsibility should've fallen to me, but I gladly let my sister take on that role. What I wanted was to break something. I had been imagining myself hurling the television out the window too many times to count. Oh, and to think of what I'd do to the creeps that had broken into our house… I had come up with a few more uses for those paint cans Kevin had hung from the stairs. I was aware that my attention was more focused on whoever had broken into our house rather than on my brother, but I would push that thought aside every time it would cross my mind. I wouldn't let myself think about Kevin, or what might've happened to him. I'd lose it if I did.

"Buzz said someone broke into the house." Linnie said in a small trembling voice.

I did not look at my sister when she said that and gritted in teeth in anger. There had never been any burglaries in our neighborhood. _Never_! We didn't live on a boring street; we lived on _the_ most boring street in the whole United States of America. That sort of thing simply did _not_ happen. That anyone had chosen the holidays to strike was… cowardly.

But logical, I begrudgingly admitted to myself.

With no one around, our street must've been easy picking for any burglar. But how did they know so many of our neighbors would be gone? When did they turn their attention to our block? Why our street of all streets? Had they been watching? Yet another chilling thought I would keep to myself. I searched my memory, trying to remember if I had noticed anyone weird hanging around over the last few weeks. I couldn't remember. What with the end of term exams, projects to hand over on top of my regular training, that didn't leave me much time to look out the window.

"What did they take? Did _they_ take Kevin?" Jeff babbled on. "Is that why they broke into the house? Why would they take Kevin? It doesn't make sense!" he said, bowing his head to his knees.

Why…? Oh god. I hadn't stopped to think about that! Why did Jeff have to ask? Looking over my shoulder, I met Megan's eyes and saw the horror I felt writing all over her face. We were both old enough to know there were plenty of reasons why some people would jump at the opportunity to take a child of Kevin's age.

That couldn't be it, I tried to persuade myself. That kind of sicko did not live in a quiet place like Winnetka. I had to believe that, cling to that belief so as not to think of the alternative.

"Maybe Kevin ran when they tried to break-in." suggested Linnie, blissfully unaware of our train of thoughts. "He could be hiding somewhere, too scared to come out.

– Yeah… Who'd want Kevin anyway! He's such a-"

Jeff stopped himself mid-sentence. He looked about to cry. I turned away from the sight, least my brother's pain feed my own.

I hadn't cried.

Not once.

Anger suited me better.

I would sometimes catch my siblings looking at me with unspoken accusations. They must've thought I was heartless, or that I didn't care. Of course I cared. I simply could not bring myself to think about all this anymore than I could wrap my mind around the idea of never seeing Kevin again. It was too surreal.

I saw our father close the door of the room he shared with our mother and walk over to us.

"Hey guys, are you hanging in there?"

Whenever he wasn't on the phone with his family, the police, or checking on our mother, he would remember to attend to us.

"Do you need anything? If you're hungry, Buzz can call room service, okay?"

I had ordered nachos, chicken wings and some sandwiches earlier, but nobody was hungry. My father hadn't had more than a bite or two of toast since Christmas morning. I think his last real meal had been the one he had taken on the plane back from Paris. He essentially ran on coffee, which did not improve his trembling.

"Any news?" Linnie would never fail to ask.

My father forced a smile on his exhausted features. It made him look old and grim.

"Not yet, honey."

So we kept on waiting for news that never came. That would sum up those first days following Kevin's disappearance.

On the fifth day, our mother emerged from her room. The weeping terrified woman we had met on Christmas morning had vanished. She had been replaced by a calm and somewhat harder version of herself. Although she had slept for days, her eyes were drawn, and her hands shook as much as my father's, but she had regained her natural poise.

She looked about ready to start a war.

That's the mother I remembered.

Drawn to her strength, we all gathered around her, including our father.

"Pack your stuff. We're going home" we heard her declare in amazement.

She sounded like herself again and it felt good to have a fragment of our normal life back.

Our house was waiting for us. I never looked at it the same way. I don't think any of us ever did. I had never seen how sinister it looked with all the lights closed and curtain drawn.

But it was home.

We had a lot of cleaning up on our hands. The cops had not exactly been careful as they processed the house for clues, and it was sometime hard to guess what had been broken as a result of the breaking-in, and what had been broken by the detectives. The feathers Megan had spotted on Christmas morning were all over the place. Someone had had the good sense of gathering Kevin's micro machines and placed them in a shoe-box in the hall.

The basement stairs had been condemned, and the tar that covered each steps was mixed with dust and some more feathers. From the top of the stairs, I could see imprints on the bottoms steps. My father had told me the police had retrieved a man's shoes and socks. Kevin had apparently also put nails on some of the stairs. Those were so well concealed by the tar I couldn't spot any of them. I hoped whoever had broken into our house had stepped on one and had hurt himself bad. Who would be stupid enough to step not once, not twice, but five times in tar anyway? Someone determined to climb up those stairs, that's who. I shuddered at the thought and closed the door.

Kevin's little tree in the living room had not been moved, but someone had unplugged the lights. I found Linnie starring at it with misty eyes, before rushing out of the room and up the stairs, crying.

That tree would have to go.

But not today.

Even I couldn't bring myself to take it down.

I made my way to my room, straightening family pictures on the wall along the way. My room had not magically been fixed during the investigation. They had pushed most of my stuff against the wall, a mix of broken shelves, marbles, training equipment and other games. I considered the mess, not knowing where to begin. I had no interest in cleaning. My eyes rested on Axl's terrarium, still lying on its side. The police had not mentioned coming across a tarantula. Considering how cold we had found the house upon our return, I assumed this meant Axl must've died.

Just perfect.

I really should mention it to the rest of the family at some point.

I threw my bag on the floor and let myself fall on my bed. I stared at the ceiling for a long time, shutting out the cries of my sister in the room across the hall. No matter what I said, it wouldn't have made her feel better. I stayed there for a long time, staring into space, until I sensed a presence next to me.

« Buzz?

– Don't you know how to knock?" I snapped back at Jeff out of habit.

Jeff was unfazed by my bad temper.

"Can I sleep in your room tonight?"

Sleep in my room? It would mean I'd have to clean up, and I _so_ wasn't up to it! What the hell was wrong with his room anyway? It hadn't been destroyed as mine had! I was about to give Jeff a piece of my mind, when I suddenly saw how lost and small he looked next to me. Regardless of how grow-up he liked to act, Jeff was only a little over ten. Looking into my brother vivid blue eyes, I was reminded that, not so long ago, Kevin had made the same request.

Had it only been a week? It felt like a lifetime had passed since I had thrown Kevin out of my room for no other reason than because I could. Had I swallowed my teenage pride, had I let him sleep in my room instead of on the third floor… I felt myself go pale. Oh god, I needed some air.

"Buzz, you okay?

– Sure Jeff… give me an hour." I said, sitting up in my bed.

Jeff left to retrieve a sleeping bag from the attic, and I closed the door behind him.

I hadn't cried that morning when my father and I had walked over to old man Marley's house without Kevin. I hadn't cried when my mother had broken down and a doctor had to be called. I hadn't cried when my father had entrusted me with my remaining siblings while he spoke with the police. No, in all those days, I hadn't cried, but I could no longer hold back my tears as I ripped the sheets off my bed, throwing them in a pile. I muffled my sobs by kicking my truck closed. I turned my energy and thoughts to anything other than Kevin, and sorted through the broken planks of wood to salvage what I could from the wreckage. My tears fell faster as I worked, making me clumsy. I must've got half a dozen splinters and scraped the back of my hands and arms, but I didn't stop. I don't remember there being any pain.

I punched and kicked my Michael Jordan poster until it came apart, and I threw it over with the planks. It didn't make me feel any better. I considered going to the basement to take my anger on the stairs, but that would've meant walking through the house with my tear-stained face, and I wouldn't do it.

Everybody in our family had cried, were probably crying at this very moment, as they would be crying for months to come, but I couldn't share my pain with them. It was too raw, and ugly, mixed with so much anger I did not know what to do with it.

I needed some air. I walked over to my window and opened it wide, breathing in the cold air of the night. I found myself shivering in a matter of seconds, but I didn't care. The air calmed me down. I was still burning with anger, but my tears had stopped falling. My eyes scanned our darken street. I ignored the sparkling lights from the nearby houses. The Murphys and the Bensons had returned from wherever they had been spending the holidays upon learning they had been robbed. I'm not sure they were at home. Their Christmas lights were turned off, as ours were, and there was a disaster clean-up truck parked in front of their house. Further down the street, the police tape still marked the Louis and the Young's properties. That sight reignited my anger. So much loss and destruction over such a small period of time…

Shutting the window with rage, I wiped my tears and my arms full of broken planks, figurines and other stuff, I made my way downstairs. I was not the only one determined to erase the traces of what had happened, Megan, armed with the vacuum cleaner, was in the dining room, chasing the feathers.

I heard my parents in the living room and avoided going in there. I grabbed my coat and boots and went out the back. It took me several trips up and down the stairs to clean out my room. The planks were too big for our garbage can, so I piled them up in the garage.

I didn't feel like going back inside. It had snowed for days, and our driveway hadn't been plowed. I grabbed a shovel in the garage and set to work. The snow was heavy and there was a crust on top of it, but I welcomed the hard work. I was so concentrated on my task it took me a while before I became aware of a familiar scrapping and rattling sound. I stopped shoveling and listened, knowing who it was.

Our neighbor.

Old man Marley.

Clutching his snow shovel, dragging his old garbage can full of salt behind him as always. I watched as he shoveled the sidewalk, before adding a layer of salt.

"You saw my brother."

Old man Marley did not jump at the sound of my voice. I saw his shoulders drop as he turned around, leaning on his shovel. He looked older than I remembered and not half as threatening. I realised that I was as tall as he was.

"Yes, I saw your brother." he said not without sadness. "I saw him a few times while… while you were away."

He looked up at our house.

"I should've asked, I should've wondered what was going on when I saw him out and about so late, but I thoughts it was a child's game on holidays. I never imagined he was all alone."

I hadn't stopped to think how Kevin must've felt upon discovering we had forgotten him. After the argument we had on the night before our departure, maybe he thought this was a punishment or something, that we did it on purpose. And now, he'd never know…

I pushed the thought aside. I couldn't think that way. We'd make it up to Kevin. As soon as we'd find him, we'd explain, and everything would be all right.

"Did he… Was he looking for us?

– If he was, he didn't tell me." old man Marley had a sad smile as he said this. "He usually ran away screaming whenever he saw me."

Hearing this sent a tremor of shame into my conscience. I could think of a few reasons why Kevin would run away from our neighbor instead of asking for his help.

"It's my fault. I kinda made up stories about you to scare him. I told him you killed a bunch of people with… your snow shovel."

My neighbor considered the shovel in his hand in mild surprise.

"Hum, kids today… It would explain why he ran away from me at the pharmacy too."

In other circumstances, I might've laughed at the idea of my little brother scurrying out of a store because of one of my stories, but not this time. I liked to terrorize Kevin; it was so easy with him believing everything I said, but I had left him ill prepared to deal with being left alone. He must've been afraid of his own shadow.

"Don't feel too bad about it." old man Marley told me, filling in my silence. "I had a good long talk with your brother at church on Christmas Eve. I think we cleared things up.

– Kevin went to church? Why?"

The church was close-by, but our family didn't attend often. I never thought of Kevin as spiritual or religious; I mean what eight-year-old is? It came as a major surprise to hear he attended a service with our neighbor.

"Well, I was under the impression he needed some time to reflect."

For the first time, I pictured my brother, all alone on Christmas Eve with no way of knowing when we'd be back, with no one and nothing to keep him company, but his little tree. Did he go to church so as not to be alone? Oh, I didn't like these images. I wanted to shut them away and never look at them again.

"Was he… Did he look okay?

– Oh, he looked fine. He didn't seem to be starving if that's what you were wondering."

We were both silent a moment.

"He's a clever one, your brother." old man Marley said softly.

I felt a lump in my throat. Not clever enough to escape.

"I am so sorry to hear what's happened. I didn't know. He never said anything about being alone. I never would've sent him back home that night had I known."

I believed him. Old man Marley sounded like a decent man, he would've taken care of Kevin had he been asked. For all of our neighbors and friends on the street, why didn't we befriend him? He lived right next door!

"And you didn't see anyone? That night, you didn't hear anything?"

I knew the police must've asked him these questions already, but I needed to hear it from his own mouth. Old man Marley shook his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't there that night. After talking to your brother, I went to see my son. On your brother's advice actually. Had I stayed home… I'm an old man, but who knows."

My family was full of regrets; I did not expect to see this stranger share in our sorrow.

"Listen son, I don't know what you're going through. But I know about anger, I know about regret. Don't let it destroy you."

I looked away. If Kevin wasn't found soon… Old man Marley might've been right, but it wasn't me so much as the rest of my family I was worried about.


	3. Case Overview

Case Overview

 _January 29, 1991_

"Kincaid, can you believe this!"

Without waiting for my reply, my colleague, Terry Parker, threw the newspaper on my desk, knocking the report I was working on to the floor. Terry didn't apologize. She never apologized for anything when she was this angry.

"Good morning to you too." I replied, taking a sip from the cup of coffee I had thankfully been holding while scanning the front page.

 _Parents new suspect in Christmas kidnapping._

 _What really happened that night?_

I was neither shocked nor surprised by this new take on the McCallister case; Journalists could be such vultures.

"It's disgusting." Terry said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"It sells papers.

– I know, and that's the problem!" sighed Terry, walking back to her desk. "When has our society become so scandal hungry?

– Become? This is nothing. You should look up what they wrote during the Lindberg baby kidnapping; dissing the parents is practically a milestone in these sorts of cases."

I did not have the time or energy to waste on the press anyway. Dealing with them wasn't part of my work description. Terry wasn't one to drop the subject so easily.

"You think the McCallisters will sue?

– On what ground?

– I don't know, how about defamation?

– Technically the journalists aren't outright lying; the McCallisters have been interrogated." I pointed out.

"Oh yes, and we all saw what a great idea that turned out to be."

Superintendent Martin had the McCallisters interrogated for days until they've had enough and lawyered up. The press had gone wild at the news. That had been a clumsy move on the superintendent's part. We couldn't afford a legal battle right in the middle of our investigation. It would complicate and slow down the process. Another mistakes on top of many more plaguing this case.

It had been at this point that the file had landed on my desk. I had been stuck picking up the pieces ever since.

This case stank.

God, I was getting too old for that pressure. It was the kind of case that could make or break a guy. I didn't need this. Why couldn't they give it to one of the newbies? They were always so eager to prove themselves.

I looked at the picture in the file. A smiling Kevin McCallister stared back at me. I knew why they had assigned me to the case. Too many mistakes had already been made. They could now allow rookies to cut their teeth on such a high profile case.

I had some experience handling missing persons and abduction cases, but not like this. I've dealt with my fair share of runaways, and stumbled across one or two cases of human trafficking while investigating a prostitution ring, nothing out of the ordinary. A few years back, I had successfully resolved a missing woman case, which had some similarities to the McCallister kidnapping. The difference between these two cases being that her entire family and friends had been able to point me in the right direction; classic case of an ex-boyfriend gone mad with jalousie. It had been a matter of finding him, and following him back to where he kept the woman. Much more memorable, at least in my mind, was the case of a deadbeat father kidnapping his two infant daughters after his ex-wife had won custody of both kids. We had found the man in some shady bar, drunk out of his mind. He had left the kids alone in a motel across the street.

All these cases had been straightforward. I knew where to take them, had a feel of what was going on. This case… It stank; there was no other way of to put it.

I had plenty of experience under my belt, but that was not the reason they had entrusted me with this file. I was given this delicate investigation thanks to my ability and will to work with the feds. I did not care if I had to share the spotlights, or if I didn't call the shots. What I wanted was to solve this case and close it as soon as possible. Given how public this one had become, all of my superiors, including the superintendent, were in agreement.

Find the kid. Close the file. Everybody's happy.

With some luck, shoot the culprits so we don't go through a messy trial, and save some taxpayers money.

What they needed wasn't a detective, it was a miracle.

This case stank from top to bottom. The premise read like a movie script. I had to go through the file a few times to understand how this unlikely string of events had led to this tragedy. The house and main scene of the crime had been so contaminated it was near impossible to make heads or tail of it. From the pictures I had seen, that house had been a battlefield. How I would've loved to interview young Kevin McCallister to understand the reasoning behind his traps. But I couldn't. No one could. And so the mystery remained.

An empty street, no witnesses or suspects, and a missing child.

What a nightmare.

I did not believe in perfect crimes, there was no such thing, but I could recognise a recipe for disaster. The closes thing we had to suspects were some ghost burglars that may or may not be involved. There had been over two dozen similar burglaries in the greater Chicago area over the past months. Those clowns had been either smart enough or mean spirited to flood each of their victims' house, destroying most prints and DNA samples in the process, meaning that besides circumstantial evidences, we had little to connect them to the boy's disappearance. The idea that they might've witnesses something had crosses my mind, but we couldn't simply invite thieves to walk into the station to give a statement.

We wouldn't know more about those thieves until they were caught, if ever. Our unit had been on high alert for similar burglaries for over a month now. There had been no shortage of burglaries, but no signature flooding. Either they had moved on to greener pastures, given up flooding houses, were taking a break to enjoy their holiday loot, had been spooked by all the commotion surrounding the boy's disappearance, or were our culprits. There were too many "or" in this equation and no way to cross any off the list.

We were running out of leads, and out of time.

With so little to go on, it was easy to fall back on the McCallisters as the main suspects. I skimmed the file even if I already knew it by heart.

Peter McCallister, rising star in his company. Made partner before he turned forty. He brought in a lot of money and attracted high profile clients.

Kate McCallister, a lucrative fashion designer. She had founded her own line of affordable clothes a few years back, and had recently signed a contract with some of the most important retailers in the country.

Victims? Suspects? Guilty or innocent?

Both of them were well connected, educated and charismatic. Everybody liked them, or so it would seem. In appearance, they had the perfect American family; five kids between the ages of fifteen and eight, three boys, two girls. A big family by today's standards, but the McCallister had the means to provide for them. I wouldn't have had any difficulty believing money had been the motive behind the boy's kidnapping, except there hadn't been any request, or communication from the kidnappers. No real ones, that is.

Mrs. McCallister's desperate plight on television had further muddled things. The superintendent never should've let her mention money. He hadn't debriefed them, or prepared them before their appearance on television. Yet another mistake that had costs us valuable time and resources.

I understood what had driven Mrs. McCallister to her statement; with her mind set on finding her boy no matter the cost, she hadn't stopped to consider how many crooks and malicious persons ready to make a quick buck on the pain and misery of others were out there.

We had received no less than fourteen ransom notes, and too many threatening calls to counts. Most of the letters had quickly been dismissed as hoaxes. One of them had clearly been sent by some kids who thought it would be an easy way to make a thousand dollars. A thousand dollars… Good god, what a joke, and waste of our time! Even the Lindberg baby kidnappers had had the balls to ask for $70,000, and that was back in 1932! Kids today didn't understand the value of money.

The calls had been taken seriously, but nothing ever came out of them. This time, I had personally prepared both Mr. and Mrs. McCallister on how to handle the situation. As the weeks went by, I don't think Mr. McCallister expected his sons' kidnappers to contact them anymore, which enabled him to handle most of the calls with a calm demeanor I had to admire. He didn't let the callers lead him on a wild goose chase, or play on his emotions. He demanded proof of his son's wellbeing, called their bullshit when they couldn't answer the simplest questions, and even hung up on them on some occasions. No matter how fired up the man became over those calls, he always ended up looking more dead than alive. As a father, I could not imagine going through that ordeal.

"You think the boy is still alive?" Terry asked from her desk.

Before I could answer, we were interrupted by a loud snort. I turned over to my other colleague, Sidney Lime, who had remained silent until that point.

"Would you stop kidding yourself, Parker? It's been a month. We all know we ought to be looking for a body by now.

– Lime you're a real jerk, you know that?" Terry replied from her own station.

"What? You asked, I'm telling it like it is!"

I always had some difficulty grasping Lime. Most of the time, he came off looking as the biggest scumbag on the force, but that may only be because he was a cynic with a sharp tongue. His attitude when it came to the job was a too laid back for my taste, but no one would argue that he performed said job better than most. Lime could be counted on to take every situation in a stride, with a dark humour that made our most seasoned officers uncomfortable. He wasn't a friend, but over the years, I had come to appreciate his uncanny eye for details, and instinct to ferret out liars; whether people liked him of not, Lime had deserved his detective badge.

"Oh, and I suppose you're going to tell me the parents are behind it too?" Terry accused him with sarcasm.

"What, you think I'm a moron or something? I ain't buying the superintendent's bullshit! He's grasping at straws. He wants this case closed no matter what, and you know it.

– Jeez Lime! You want to say that a little louder, I don't think they heard you all the way on the other side of the floor" Terry replied, smiling in spite of herself.

Lime did not roll his eyes. His sneer was sufficient to convey his personal feeling on our superintendent.

"Like I care a fuck! Martin's done. Everybody knows it. This case will be the final nail in the coffin; mark my words; he'll be out of here before you know it."

I winced internally. I wanted Martin gone as much as everybody else, but a change in management at this point and time in such a high profile investigation might spell disaster. I did not need anybody else sticking their nose in it.

"This case isn't rocket science boys and girls" stated Lime without hiding his boredom. "I don't see why you're all complicating things with far-fetched theories. The parents didn't do it, this was a burglary gone wrong, plain and simple. The kid saw too much, so they got rid of him. End of story."

Lime made it sound so simple I wanted to agree with him. The parents did not strike me as killers, but I had seen too many brilliant actors over the course of my career.

"You think strangers would've taken him? Most cases of kidnapping involve a family member, or someone close to the child, rather than complete strangers." I said, thinking out loud.

"I know the odds as well as you do Kincaid, but do you honestly think the kid would've put someone he knew, and trusted through that fun house of his?"

Lime had a point. Some of these traps had been borderline lethal. We had checked the hospitals and emergency room for any suspicious wounds, but nothing out of the ordinary had been reported over the holidays.

"Besides" insisted Lime "you're not hearing me. How many times do I have to say it, this wasn't premeditated. Face it the odds of _everybody_ in that house forgetting about the kid sleeping on the third floor were next to none. There is no way his kidnapping could've been planned. The thieves showed up, thinking no one's home, saw the kid, panicked, and snatched him to keep his mouth shut.

– You think you're so smart, Lime" Terry said with a sufficient smile "but riddle me this, why would someone insist on breaking-in after all those traps?

– Terry's right" I was forced to admit, "Burglars usually go for easy targets, and there was nothing easy about that place.

– They should've called it quits after the tar on the stairs, or the blowtorch. I know I would've!"

Lime smirked, unimpressed.

"Oh, I don't know about that. A couple of burglars, getting their asses kicked by a kindergartner? That must've pissed them off."

It was hard to deny that Lime had, yet again, a point. I meditated the case. Something was strange. Many details in this case did not add up, but still, something bothered me.

"Those traps, though" added Terry "He set them up, why? Something or someone must've spooked the kid real bad for him to devise those.

– Who knows why kids do the things they do." shrugged Lime. "Maybe he was afraid of the bogeyman.

– No" I interrupted, half listening. "The kid was afraid of his neighbor, not the bogeyman.

– Marley? The last person to see the kid? And that doesn't strike you as suspicious?" probed Lime.

I shook my head and went through the file one more time. I wasn't too concerned about Joseph Marley. The old gentleman lived alone next to the McCallisters. According to some witness, the boy had been terrified of him. I might've been tempted to pursue that lead if the elder of the McCallister family hadn't confessed to telling his kid brother some made-up stories about their neighbor being a serial killer.

Ah, brotherly love.

Besides, Marley didn't have a scratch on him, and his alibi on Christmas Eva was solid. That's not what bothered me. I looked at the pictures from the scene of the crime. His traps must've taken some time to set up, more than enough time for him to call the police, and yet… There had been a 911 call lodged from the McCallister residence sometime after nine o'clock in the evening of December 24, but the caller, no doubt young Kevin McCallister himself, had called on behalf of his neighbors, the Murphys. Why wouldn't he call to let them know someone was breaking into his own house? There was no way for the kid to have caught the burglars in the act at the Murphy's place; the basement had well over a foot of water by the time the police arrived on the scene, minutes later, meaning that the burglars had hit that house hours, if not days before the call. So why send the police over there?

"He didn't trust the police." I realised at that moment. "Why wouldn't he trust the police?"

My assertion was met with stunned silence.

"Don't go there, Kincaid." said Terry, shaking her head.

"No, no, that's an interesting theory you got going." countered Lime. "Let's talk about this; why wouldn't the boy trust the cops?

– Oh shut up Lime! I know you, you're only looking for something to pin on Hudson.

– Hey ask around, everybody wants a piece of Hudson, and why not? If he hadn't done a half-assed job as usual, and fetched the brat like he was supposed to, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

Terry glowered; she hated when Lime was right.

"Don't give me that look, Parker. I know you can't enjoy being pegged the bad guy in this town, or seeing our good name dragged through the mud because of that looser!

– You said it Lime, not me, Hudson is a looser, but he's not involved in this.

– Hudson would've done a better job covering his tracks, anyway." I reasoned.

Throwing a pointed look Lime's way, Terry added:

"If the boy didn't trust the police, it would explain why he didn't answer the door when Hudson stopped by.

– But _why_ wouldn't he trust the police?" I repeated, frowning. "Children, especially boys, love cops.

– Who knows Kincaid, maybe he stole some bubble gum, or a chocolate bar." suggested Lime impatiently.

"Or maybe the person the boy was afraid of also happened to be a cop."

It was a crazy theory, one as poorly thought of as the superintendent's was. I was losing my edge, as could clearly be illustrated by Lime's lack of interest.

"Kincaid, I know you're not _seriously_ suggesting that the ones who broke into that house were cops. If you are, I'd say it was time you took a few days off. Relax, and think about something other than this file. It's driving you nuts."

As soon as Lime spoke those words, I knew he was right. It was dumb to suggest it.

"Hold on" Terry suddenly said, raising her hand.

"Parker, don't encourage him! Forget what I said about Hudson, you know I was kidding, the kid wasn't snatched by a cop!

– I know, but what if the boy saw someone he thought was a cop, or someone _dressed_ as a cop?"

This time, it was Lime's turn to frown, eyes narrowed.

"You mean a cop impersonator?

– Why not? Cop impersonators are on the rise.

– Plenty of criminals, including Ted Bundy, have used to the uniform to lure their victims." I added, giving the idea some thought.

"Everyone knows that!" hissed Lime "You don't have much to go on for that theory to fly."

There was something in his voice that made me look up. Anger would've been a strong word, but something in this latest theory had definitely rubbed Lime the wrong way.

"For the record, I think that's the dumbness thing I've heard all morning, but to shut the two of you up, I can give the word, and ask if anyone saw a weird cop nosing around.

– No, don't!" I snapped back. "Let's not jump the gun on this. If the word gets out, that there may be a child kidnapper dressing up as a cop out there, we're going to have a panic on our hands."

Not to mention that the superintendent would have our heads, I thought.

"You mean a child killer." Lime corrected me.

– Until we have proof, we shouldn't-

Lime shook his head, clearly disappointed by the way this conversation was going.

"Knock it off will ya; the only reason those thieves would've had to keep the boy alive was to ask for a ransom, but since that didn't happen, they got rid of him.

– You don't know that" I said quietly.

"No, I suppose you're right, they must've kept him out of the goodness of their hearts. As a pet!" Lime mocked me. "You know what; I bet those burglars were a nice couple looking to adopt.

– I'm saying the boy might be worth more to them alive than dead. If they have the right connections."

I was disgusted by my next words:

"We all know how much some people would be willing to pay to get their hands on a child."

That gave Lime a moment of pause.

"I wager a shit load of money." he agreed, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well worth going through that house. Cut their losses.

– But we went through the child sex offender registry." Terry reminded us. "There aren't any in the Winnetka area.

– But that doesn't mean there aren't any, they're just not _registered_." I pointed out, bitterly.

– You live in a sick, sick world, Kincaid." teased Lime.

"Don't we all?"

No one answered me. The three of us were quiet, lost in our own thoughts. Lime was the first one to break it:

"Well children, this has been fun, but I still think the simplest explanation is the right one, so I'll stick with my original theory of a burglary gone wrong.

– Your probably right, but I prefer Kincaid's take on it." Terry said, gathering some files.

"His theory would mean that the kid is in the hands of some pedophile, how is that any better?" snapped Lime.

"Because his scenario means we could still save him."

The comment shut Lime up as we both watched Terry leave.

"Women." sighed Lime "Too sentimental for the job, I tell ya.

– I don't know, I think we could all use a happy ending on this case.

– You want a happy ending? Find the burglars, and you'll have your answers. Forget about the kid, he's a goner."

Find the burglars. Easier said than done, and we all knew it. Burglars were notoriously hard to catch. The odds of us finding them were slim to none.

"Let's say I'd want to find the burglars. You have any idea who I could speak to?"

Lime did not lift his eyes from the notes he was taking.

"You know what do to, Kincaid; Send some of our men where the parole guys hang out. Thieves brag. Even if they keep their mouth shut about the kid, their habits are bound to be known by people in the trade."

I already knew all this; I had men in bars, and speakeasy around town. I had given the word out to loan sharks, and kept an eye on some fence guys, and pawnshops, but nothing had come up so far. I was getting desperate. If I truly wanted to find these guys, I needed more. I needed someone who knew the inside out of that world, and to whom criminals did not mind talking to. And I knew that for all of his pretences, Lime was closer to that world than should've been appropriate for a man in his line of work.

"What about you Lime, you heard anything about this whole mess?"

Lime cocked an eyebrow.

"Me? You think I hang out with thieves and kidnappers on my lunch hour or something?"

I had to tread carefully here. I did not want to come off as accusing Lime of being a dirty cop, but I knew he was connected to the right people. When we needed answers, Lime usually knew who to ask.

"You got ears to the ground, Lime. I don't care who you know or hang with, but have you heard _anything_ that could be related to this case?

– You think I'd keep it to myself? Some opinion you have of me!

– I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you'd give me an honest answer."

Lime wasn't one to be sweet-talked into doing something he didn't feel like. I saw him roll his eyes, before finally giving-in:

"Fine, you want the truth, here goes: yeah I hear stuff, plenty of stuff, but not a word on the kid. Kidnapping's not their thing, you know. And if it was, they wouldn't tell me. We're not talking about some pimps trying to lure underage cheerleaders, or some punks reselling stolen cars here.

– Somebody knows something. This wasn't a one man's job.

– You want my opinion? If anybody's involved, somebody fucked up big time, and they won't tell me. Nobody wants to have a kid's blood on their hands. Nobody can afford that kind of heat.

– You _really_ think the boy's dead?"

Lime held my gaze without flinching.

"You know the body'll probably turn up around Lake Michigan come spring. They always do."

As much as I did not appreciate Lime's frankness, I knew he was probably right. Lime must've caught my disappointment because I heard him sigh:

"Fine, I'll make some calls, do some digging. I'll let you know if I hear anything, but don't hold your breath.

– Thanks Lime, I owe you one."

I did not expect Lime's source to lead him to the kid, if they knew anything at all, but still, it was worth the shot. I turned back to the smiling picture of the boy.

Kevin McCallister what on Earth had happened to you?


	4. All my Strength

_Hello dear readers,_

 _As I was doing research for this chapter I stumbled across my city's emergency plan in the case of a child's kidnapping. I did not even know my city had such a plan! For once, they were proactive about something, and I was very impressed with how detailed their plan is. Things I never would've though off! It goes way beyond launching an Amber Alert, with drafted media lines, standing volunteers to handle media relations, checklists, websites, blog and other social media management, standing contracts with company to design missing posters, how to support the family with or without other children, etc. I found a lot of information I was able to incorporate in the following scene in this plan. It was amazing! Now tell me, I am curious, does your city have such a plan in place? It's well worth the look._

 _It also got me to spend a lot of time on missing children sites. I had no idea how many missing children there were! And even if kidnapping by complete strangers only accounts for about 6% of them, it's a scary world out there!_

 _On this note, I hope you'll enjoy the chapter!_

All my Strength

 _February 15, 1991_

Again and again, I knelled my dough as I hummed along a song on the radio. In a pan over the stove, my cherry mix was bubbling. Once in a while, I would stir the cherries to keep them from burning. My pie should be ready by the time Peter and the children came back from the movies. It had taken some convincing, but Peter had relented after I had told him how much the children needed the distraction, _any_ distraction. I had baked them an apple, pear and cranberry pie that was cooling on the kitchen table. The cherry pie was for Kate. If only I could find a way to convince _her_ to rest for a day or two. She was always busy, always working; if she wasn't on the phone with members of the community, she was talking to the press, or running all over town to print and distribute missing posters of Kevin. When she was at home, Kate worked on a journal of everything that had happened, keeping track of news article and press conferences, writing down every detail she could think of for fear of forgetting, or overlooking anything.

At my feet, Chester, the family's red and white cocker spaniel, whined to himself. He didn't appreciate all the activity around the house, or being ignored by both adults and children alike.

"Patience, Kate will be done soon." I told him, tossing a biscuit his way.

In the days following their return from Paris, Peter had forgotten all about the dog in pension in a kennel. The children were the one who had remembered poor Chester, and begged for his return. Having their fateful pet back did the entire family some good. The dog wasn't young, but his sense of hearing was still sharp; no intruder could've stepped into the house without Chester alerting everybody; I knew it reassured Peter and Kate.

I could hear Kate's voice from the dining room as she discussed the details of the upcoming vigil the Winnetka Club would hold next week. I had briefly met the women of the club when they had arrived earlier. I, not unlike Chester, insisted on being introduced to everyone who set foot in the house. I had a nose for snoops and other crooks that were trying to take advantage. Not three days earlier, I had caught a reporter in the children's tree house trying to snap a few pictures of us. A week before that I had thrown a self-proclaimed psychic who swore she had visions of my grandson being held in the Nevada desert by a religious cult out of the house. Kate and Peter were desperate, but thank the Lord; they were not _that_ desperate yet.

The women of the Winnetka Club sounded well-intentioned and respectful enough. They had approached Kate at church with this idea for a candle-lit vigil for Kevin, and my daughter had jumped on board. It was very thoughtful of them.

The initiative was one of many ways the Winnetka community had band together in the wake of Kevin's disappearance to help Peter and Kate. Support had poured from beyond the village and volunteers from all over Chicago had offered their time and efforts in search of my grandson, whether by participating in ground searches or in door-to-door canvassing.

Kate and Peter couldn't focus on all the administrative details that were required, and some of their neighbors had spontaneously offered to lend a hand. They had established volunteer registration lists, handled and kept track of money, flowers and various other donations. They had also suggested the journal to keep a history and record of all the media coverage as future references.

The other victims of the holiday burglaries had been invested in Kevin's search as well, especially the Murphys as their son, Mitch, was a friend of Kevin's. I hadn't spoken to him, but I had seen him with his mother at local meetings. Unlike his parents, I don't think the boy understood what was happening, or why his parents had become so protective of him. I understood their reaction all too well. Their house might've been robbed, the flooding might've ended up costing them thousands of dollars in property damage, but their child was safe.

They were the lucky ones.

Twice a day, every day, I saw Ms. Murphy walking her son to and back from school, clutching his hand in hers. She was not the only one keeping a closer watch on her child; many parents now accompanied, or drove their children to school, no matter how close it was. Children no longer played in the streets or in the park by themselves. What used to be a family friendly neighborhood was now guarded, bordering on the hostile. Strangers walking on the street were closely watched behind drawn curtains. People noted the license plate of unknown cars parked in the area, and local schools held information sessions on safety tips for children. Kevin's kidnapping had roused the paranoia of every parent in town.

Mr. Murphy attended most rallies and public event. Armed with a brand new top of the line camera, he would snap pictures of the crowd. I had been intrigued by his behavior until he explained, almost apologetic, that sometimes kidnappers participated to search parties, or other such events. Mr. Murphy therefore took picture of the crowd in order to share them with the police. After hearing this, I could no longer look at volunteers without a hint of suspicion in my heart. I had never been of a suspicious nature, and was disturbed by my own distrust.

I would nevertheless be attending the vigil alongside Kate, Peter and the children, thought I wasn't sure what it would accomplish. Kate believed it would raise awareness, lead people to keep an eye out for Kevin. I encouraged my daughter in this new project, though I privately doubted anything would come of it; whoever had taken my grandson would be cautious enough by this point to keep him away from the public.

Kate needed to stay busy. We were so alike in this regards. As long as she had something to do, she wouldn't lose hope. I wondered how long she would be able to keep this up. She barely ate or slept. I could hear her walk around the house at night, checking on the children. Not that I could blame her, but my daughter was working herself into an early grave.

Kate wasn't the only one I was worried about. All this stress and sorrow was beginning to take their toll on Peter; he was distracted around the children, and barking orders over the phone day and night. Kate was his anchor. She would calm him down after a frustrating bout with the police, press or insurance company.

Most of the time, Peter handled the police department. When their relation had deteriorated, Peter had called the lawyers, met and discussed strategies with them. Peter also met on a weekly basis with the private detective he had hired when he stopped thrusting the police force. I'm not sure how this investigator might succeed where the authorities had failed, but if he had the slightest chance of finding Kevin, I supposed it was worth the try.

I had always liked Peter. From the moment Kate had first introduced him to my husband and I, we had approved of her choice. He was handsome, funny, caring, and valued family above all. He was a good match for our Kate. After the initial shock following Kevin's disappearance had faded, I had been introduced to a darker side of Peter's personality. He didn't show it to Kate or the family, but for the first time, I saw the cold, efficient and ruthless side of my son-in-law that had made him such a valuable asset to his firm. He did not tolerate mistakes or excuses. He wanted result. And what Peter wanted was Kevin, no matter the cost. The reward had been his idea. I had been stunned by the amount he promised for any information that might lead to Kevin's recovery. The money was to serve as both an incentive and bait, and was nothing less than ruinous. I wanted Kevin back, but I also remembered they had four other children to look out and care for. I didn't want them to bankrupt themselves, especially as I doubted the honesty of those calling to offer tips. When I had raised the subject with Peter, worried he might have taken it too far, he had swept my concerns aside

"Money can buy anything and anyone, so why not my son? I can always make more money."

His casual stance on money gave me the uneasy feeling that had Peter had any clue as to the identity of Kevin's kidnappers, he would've made sure they'd met an untimely death. Maybe I was being overdramatic, but I couldn't shake the feeling. In any case, Kevin's kidnappers had been smart enough to see through the charade. They never called.

Peter had gone back to work at the beginning of February. His firm had shown great support by allowing him such an extended leave. Since his return to work, they had also been flexible with his schedule. Not all employers would've been so generous. All the partners at the firm had donated important sums of money in search of Kevin, and some of Peter's clients had been involved, printing and paying for pictures of my grandson to be published in magazines and newsletters across the country.

All those efforts had failed to yield any results. How could a child or anyone vanish without a trace? It didn't seem possible, and yet… You hear about these abduction cases on the news, but you never consider it might happen to you or your loved ones.

My dough was ready as I heard the ladies from the club take their leave. I removed the cherries from the stove to give them time to cool while I rolled my dough. I gave Kate's green marble rolling pin a disapproving glare before turning to my old wooden one I had brought from South Carolina with me.

Kate joined me in the kitchen shortly afterwards, carrying empty cups of coffee on a tray. Chester wagged his tale in welcome and earned himself another biscuit, this time from Kate.

"That dog is getting fat from all the biscuits everybody's feeding him."

Kate petted the dog, her mind already focused on something else.

"Oh Mom, you know you don't have to do that.

– Kate, don't tell your mother what to do.

– Really, you've been cooking and baking since you arrived.

– Tut tut! I'm here to help, aren't I? Let me help."

After Peter's call near New Years, I had jumped on the first available plane back to Chicago, heart condition be damn. I couldn't be expected to stay away from my daughter and her family in their time of need! Peter had been the one to answer the door upon my arrival. He had looked terrified to discover me on his doorstep, and had awkwardly let me in, stammering some nonsense about them not expecting me.

Peter probably expected me to yell at him as I had over the phone. I wasn't proud of that; my emotions had had the best of me. He must've already been beating himself over what had happened, and did not need me to twist the knife in the wound. That's not what I had come to do. I had come to help. One look at Peter was enough to convince me I had been right to listen to my instincts. I don't think my son-in-law could've recalled his last real meal. I suppose that Peter, like most men, did not relish the invasion of his mother-in-law, but I at least proved less intrusive than the rest of _his_ family. I know they meant well, but honestly, what were they thinking coming over with all their children in tow? Kate and Peter had enough on their mind without having to play host to a horde of noisy, hungry, and penny-pinching relatives. Peter, bless his soul, did not have the energy, or mind to oppose them. That's where I came in. If his family wanted to stay and help, they were more than welcomed, but not at the house. They would have to go to a hotel. This wasn't a family reunion of a day or two; there was too much to be done. I recognized that the children could take comfort in their cousins, but they also needed to return to a sense of normality, and a house filled to the brisk with children running around was anything but normal.

Luckily, I had found an unexpected ally in Kate's sister-in-law, Leslie. She had always been a sensible woman, and I came to appreciate her all the more in those first few weeks. Before we knew it, she had negotiated the price of a few hotel suites nearby and had set up daily schedules for everybody to follow. As long as Leslie had been around, I knew I could count on her to stand as a barrier between Peter, Kate and their too many well-wishers. She guarded the access to the house better than the hounds of Hades, turning people away, or redirecting them, politely, but firmly. Leslie had also come up with the idea for a log to keep track of those who came by the house, an initiative I had taken on after her departure.

Peter's brother Rob had proved surprisingly resourceful. He had played his diplomatic card with tact, and called all of his connections, helping make Kevin's disappearance national. His wife, Georgette and their daughter Heather had run most of the errands in town, and had coordinated the conception of the missing posters. For my part, I had kept busy cooking for the family and cleaning up at the end of each day, which left Peter's other brother, Frank with little to do. His idea of helping had been to watch movies with the children. I had stood it for a few days, before I'd had enough and tasked him with cleaning the basement stairs. I don't think that man was used to getting ordered around, or lifting a finger around the house, but a few sharp words from his wife had gone a long way and he had taken care of it.

Peter's family couldn't stay forever. Once the Christmas holidays were over, they had to return to their own lives in Ohio and France. They called often, almost every day, but they were so far, and there was never any news.

"You're baking another pie?" noted Kate.

– I'm making a cherry pie, your favorite.

– It was Daddy's favorite too." weakly smiled Kate as she rinsed the coffee cups.

I thanked God my late husband was not around to see this tragedy befall our family. My husband, may he rest in peace, was not a violent man, but seeing our little girl, our only child, tortured this way would've driven him to murder.

"A whole pie? You know I'm not that hungry, Mom.

– Shush that nonsense! You need to eat. Don't think I haven't noticed how you haven't touched your pot roast at lunch."

I gave my daughter a quick look over, pursing my lips. Her loose clothes did not fool me; she had lost no less than fifteen pounds over the past weeks, and Lord knew she couldn't afford to lose any more.

The phone rang, and I automatically reached for it.

"What kind of parents leaves their child behind!" a raspy voiced hissed in my ear. "If there was any justice-

– Ringwald residence." I replied in my most frosty upper-crust accent.

A stunned silence followed by the dial answered me. I hung up, boiling inside. For all the support shown by the community, there were always those ready to spit their venom at us, namely those callers. I consider myself I good Christian, but if I ever got my hand on one of those heartless creatures, I'd happily tear out his tongue. I reckoned Jesus would understand.

"Mom, I would prefer if you didn't answer the phone using your surname. It confuses people.

– I know, dear. That's the point." I replied, adding this new call to the log next to the phone.

I wouldn't need to answer the phone using my surname if Kate simply accepted to change their phone number. It would've been enough to put a stop to most of those wicked calls long ago, but Kate wouldn't hear of it. She was persuaded that Kevin, or his kidnappers might try to contact them. I did not want to upset my daughter by reminding her of how unlikely this was to happen after all this time, so I endured the calls.

I had taken it upon myself to raise the issue with detective Kincaid. He had sympathised and offered to file a complaint for disorderly conduct, but warned me that the situation might worsen if the press heard of this latest development. As the callers would receive at best a fine, it did not seem worth the trouble.

I might've shown more tolerance had the callers had the decency to restrict their insults to the adults, but not even the children were spared. They were young, too young to be exposed to this cruelty. I did not want to think about what it did to them. The other day I had caught Linnie shouting profanities a girl of her age shouldn't know, let alone use, at the phone. I normally would not have hesitated to wash her mouth with soap, but given the circumstances, I had simply taken the receiver from her hands, and hung up. I had taken my granddaughter into the kitchen and given her a brownie warm from the oven with a glass of milk. I did not mention the incident to her parents.

I did not live under the delusion that my cooking and baking could fix anything, but it was all I had to offer beside moral support, and I was determined to do it right. No matter how little my daughter ate, having me around to take care of the cooking was one less thing for her to worry about. And there were the children to consider. They deserved healthy meals, especially as I had noticed a drop in their appetite.

I had been back in Chicago for over a month now, much longer than I had anticipated. I had hoped, as we all did, that Kevin would quickly be found, but here we were. Since it would appear that this might go on for… I dared not think months, I had to consider some long-term arrangements. I couldn't stay with my daughter's family indefinitely. The third floor where I slept suited me for the time being, but I knew it would be too warm and stuffy come summer, though I still hoped all this would be resolved by then. I could've used the boys' room since Jeff had taken permanent residence with Buzz, but no one used that room. Disturbing it would've felt disrespectful. I had seen Peter on more than one occasions standing in the doorway without moving for several minutes. I had also found my daughter sitting on the lower bed, holding one of Kevin's pyjamas, crying. I did not disturb them. Their pain tore my heart out.

Kate and her family needed me, but I couldn't crowd their house. It wasn't right.

My dough was all rolled-up, and ready to be placed in my pan. While I worked, I glanced at Kate. She was looking out the window in the garden. It had been a beautiful winter day. It had snowed on the previous night, and a deceivingly warm sunlight made the icicles dangling from rooftops sparkle and drip. As soon as the sun had gone down, the wind had however risen and the cold had reclaimed its right over the city. The night was pitch-black, and I doubted Kate could see anything, but she did not move from the window.

"Kate, I've been thinking." I said tentatively. "What would you say if I moved back to Chicago?"

She didn't look at me, or reacted to my question.

"I could rent out my condo. Take an apartment in the village."

I poured my cherry mix into the pan, and dotted it with butter as I continued:

"I've seen some nice ones on Woodlawn Avenue. It wouldn't be far."

Again, silence. I put my pie to the side to look at my daughter. She was still staring out the window, but had completely blanched.

"Kate, are you all right?"

I walked up to her, peering outside, but nothing seemed out of place in the backyard.

"I don't know. I have this feeling…" Kate whispered, her eyes searching the darkness.

"Feeling? What feeling?"

She reminded me of her father when she said such things. He also used to have these "feelings" that could not be explained. I hated it. It was usually followed by bad news.

"Something… Something's not right."

Kate did not explain herself. I saw her furrow her brow in concentration. Without any warning, I suddenly saw her eyes widen, and she sprinted out of the kitchen, Chester on her heels. Troubled, I hurried after her. Kate had not gone far, I found her in the foyer frantically going through the closet.

"Kate? What is it? What's wrong?"

Chester was dancing with delight around Kate, probably expecting an evening walk. She did not seem to hear me, or the dog. I tried to quiet Chester, but I was mostly concerned with Kate; She pushed coats and vests aside one after the other until she found what she was looking for. It was Kevin's coat. She looked at it, transfixed, as if she'd never seen it before.

"He doesn't have his coat." I heard her state.

– Kate…"

She turned to me, and her expression frightened me. She looked mad.

"He doesn't have his coat!"

Before I could respond, Kate had yanked the coat off its hanger and rushed outside.

"Kate!"

I leaped and grabbed Chester's collar before he could bounce off into the night after my daughter. I could not chase both Kate and the dog. Kate needed me. She came first. A cold gust of wind chilled me to the bones, and I gave me the presence of mind to put on my coat and grab Kate's before racing outside. I caught up with my daughter down the street. Thankfully, Kate wasn't running anymore. I'm not sure she knew where she was going herself.

"Kate! What are you doing? You can't run outside, you'll slip and break something!"

It had to be a miracle that she had not already slipped on a patch of ice in those high heels of hers. I made a mental note to thank their neighbor, Mr. Marley, for salting the sidewalks. Seeing that Kate showed no sign of slowing down, I seized her arm, forcing her to stop and look at me.

"Kate, what is going on?

"Mom, don't you understand? Kevin doesn't have his coat!" Kate repeated, brandishing the piece of clothing in front of my eyes, as if it was evidence of some kind.

I looked at it, desperately trying to make sense of her words and actions.

"Did you remember something? Do you want me to call detective Kincaid?

– Kevin is out there, Mom! He's out there, I know it!"

I tried not to show my fear at her words. Out there? Did she mean outside? I did not dare ask Kate how she could possibly know this. If she was right, then my grandson would not last long in this freezing cold temperature. I hoped to God that her "feeling" had been wrong.

"He's out there and he doesn't have his coat. Or his mittens, or his hat." Kate moaned, her eyes filling with tears.

I was at a loss for words. Even forty years of motherhood can't prepare one to respond to such a situation. My daughter was so miserable I wanted to cry with her.

"My baby is all alone out there. And it's so cold… He needs me, Mom. He could be hurt. What if he's hurt? What are they going to do to him if he gets hurt?"

I could see she was working herself into a panic, and did my best to calm her down.

"I'm sure… I'm sure they'll take care of him." I lied.

My daughter did not buy it.

"No they won't!" she wailed, burying her face in Kevin's coat.

I bit my lips to keep my own tears from falling. I was talking nonsense, and I knew it; it was ridiculous to expect my grandson's kidnappers to care about his wellbeing. If they had, they never would've taken him in the first place.

My despair turning to anger, I wrapped Kate in her coat and drew her in a tight hug. My daughter did not resist as I led her to the house.

"I want him back." Kate sobbed against me. "I'm going crazy, Mom. I want him back!

– I know. Kevin's a smart boy, I'm sure he's fine." I lied again.

"How could he be fine when he's not in my arms?"

What answer could I possibly offer my daughter? There were no words to heal her pain, or quiet her fears.

"Come, Kate; let's go back to the house. The last thing you need is to be sick."

My daughter followed me blindly.

"It's my fault, Mom. It's all my fault." she kept repeating between her sobs.

Blame was a natural reaction, but I didn't want Kate to torture herself this way. I couldn't let her.

"Don't say that, Kate. You couldn't possibly-

– It _is_ my fault! I'm the one who sent Kevin to the attic. He didn't want to. He was afraid of the attic, and I _made_ him sleep up there. And I forgot him.

– Oh Kate, don't say that… You're being too hard on yourself.

– And you're not being hard enough! Peter hates me, I know he does. I'm a bad mother.

– You are not, and Peter could never hate you."

Not anymore than he hated himself. He didn't say it. Not to me, but it was obvious my son-in-law was full of self-loathing. While Kate was flying all over the country, he had remained in Paris with the children. I refused to blame him for that. As far as everybody was concerned, Kevin should've been perfectly safe. He was home. No one could've planned for a breaking-in.

"You're a good mother, Kate. Kevin loves you. We'll find him, don't worry."

It was nothing I hadn't told her countless times already, but it was no use; Kate did not believe me, and kept crying. I knew that until Kevin was found, she would keep blaming herself till her last breath, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Chester was waiting for us at the door. He followed us as I helped my daughter to her bedroom. Perhaps sensing my daughter's distress, he curled himself at the foot of Kate's bed where he remained for the rest of the night.

It took some time for my daughter to calm herself. I stayed with her, hugging her and robbing her back, cursing my own helplessness. It had to the most awful feeling in the world. Helplessness was both our curse. Here we were, two mothers, equally unable to help our own child, and it was killing us.

When Kate was calm enough, I brought her some herbal tea. I then insisted she took those pills the doctor had prescribed, and put her to bed. Kate didn't take those pills as often as she should've, like her father before her, she thought it made her weak, but she did not have the energy to fight me. I stayed with her until she had fallen asleep.

I made my way back to the kitchen where my abandoned pie was still waiting for me. I prepared the top crust, letting my hands do the work for me. My mind was not into it. I could not stop thinking about my daughter and missing grandson. Baking a cherry pie was futile, but what else could I do? It was heart-wrenching to see my daughter like this. I felt so useless. I would've done anything for Kate, given all I had including my own life, yet I was incapable of offering her what she needed most: Kevin.

I was glad when the children returned. I didn't mention Kate's premonition to Peter. I simply told him that my daughter had gone to bed early. As I had hoped, Peter read between the lines and went to see her while I distracted the children by offering them each a generous piece of pie. My grandchildren were too quiet these days. They didn't bicker, they didn't tease or argue as they used to. Buzz was the first to finish his plate. He didn't ask for a second piece, as he normally would've. He also remained at the table instead of leaving to watch television. I saw his eyes travel from one of his siblings to the other, as if he was keeping count. He looked so severe. I could sense that the latest events would force Buzz to grow up and mature much quicker than his parents ever would've wanted.

As much as I wanted to protect him, it couldn't be helped.

Everything and everyone was changing so fast, it frightened me.

I was the last one to go to bed that evening. I sat alone in the living room. Most of the family avoided this room haunted by Kevin's Christmas tree, but not me. It was where I would sit at the end of each day and knit while saying my prayers. The tree was dry and was losing more and more needles, but the family kept delaying to take it down. I did not mind the sight. It reminded me of happier times. Kevin's love of Christmas trees reflected his mother's love of the holidays when she was his age. Every year, on the first days of December, Kate would beg and plead for us to buy a Christmas tree and she would always find a way to make us keep it until mid-January, long after the holidays were over. It used to drive me crazy, but my husband had indulged Kate, saying I would one day miss the child-like wonder of our daughter in front of something as simple as a Christmas tree. He had been right.

That night, as I knit, my prayers did not rise to my lips as they usually did. I stared for a long time at the unmoving needles in my hands. It felt a lot harder to remember what I had to be grateful for these days.

After some considerations, I turned my prayers to the one I knew would always listen: my late husband.

"Carson, please, please watch over our Kevin. Don't let them hurt him. Wherever he may be, don't let them hurt him."

Over and over, I repeated the words, willing myself to believe that somewhere, someone would interfere on my grandson's behalf and keep him safe.

Until the day he would find his way back to us.


	5. The Good Brother

_Hello dear readers!_

 _I am running quite behind with this side of the story! My plan had been to write de McCallisters' side of the story along with Kevin's souvenirs, but I really wanted to concentrate on the Christmas chapters in my main story first._

 _I am not neglecting "Home is Where the Heart Is", I am still working on the plan for my next chapter. As I have a few chapters from the McCallister's point of view that are almost done, I will be updating them first._

 _As always, I hope you will enjoy!_

The Good Brother

 _March 20, 1991_

Kevin.

Every night I saved him.

My book was lying on my desk in front of me. It was an easy book, one I had read twice already: James M. Barrie's Peter Pan. I knew it well enough to present a decent book report with little preparation.

In front of the class, another student was delivering his own book report at top speed on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I had already read that one. Out of boredom, I rested my head on my arms right where a patch of sunlight lit my desk. My eyes wandered out the window.

Spring was in the air. It had been in the air for days now. The snow was melting fast under the afternoon sun, large patches of grass and mud were visible and the water was flowing down the street to the sours; I frowned at those signs of spring. I thought winter would never end, but this first taste of the warm season felt wrong.

Kevin, _where_ are you?

Round and round, that question went unanswered in my mind.

I didn't use to think about Kevin all that much. He was one of my siblings. I never questioned his presence; he was just there, until he wasn't anymore. Why was this happening? _How_ could this be happening? I had so many questions, and no one would answer them! Not even my parents.

At home, no one talked about Kevin. Buzz had been informed of this new rule after telling me to quit asking questions. He said I was hurting our parents. I had never known till that moment that questions could hurt. So I learned to keep them to myself.

It took me a while to adjust to this new unspoken rule. And it didn't keep me from wondering, what was happening to Kevin. Like, what was he doing right now? It was hard to imagine where he might be. Images of cold and damp dungeons, chains and mildew kept flashing through my mind. What if he got cold? What if he got hungry? Did he know today was the first day of spring?

The first day of spring…

I was so sure Kevin would've been found by now. So sure… Everybody said he would. They promised he would! And I believed them. It was hard to believe Kevin had disappeared. Vanished without a trace. Almost by magic. I still expected to see my brother walk in the kitchen every morning begging my parents for eggs, or sprinting down the hall, chased out of the bathroom by Megan. It didn't make sense. Or lives didn't make sense anymore.

I kept telling myself that everything would be find, that Kevin would soon return and that we would all go back to our normal lives. That spark in my mother's eyes would reignite, my father's laugh would fill the house again, Buzz would stop looking so grim and my sisters wouldn't be so silent anymore. When this would all be over, I'm sure we would look back on those days and laugh as we listened to Kevin telling us about the feathers in the dining room, the blowtorch in the kitchen and the paint cans...

The days had turned to weeks and now months had passed and I was getting angry. These things, _bad_ things, did not happen. Not to us, not to _our_ family. It was like a bad movie that left a bitter taste in my mouth. I felt cheated. As if someone had broken their promise to me. Surely, there had been a mistake; things couldn't stay this way. Someone would bring my brother back, a hero that would make everything right again.

A hero would fix everything.

Would it be a zealous policeman that did not rest until every one of his cases were solved? A disgruntled detective that refused to play by the rules? A nosy reporter that had a flair for trouble? Or perhaps a private eye not afraid to take the law into his own hands? I waited, and waited, until the truth finally hit me:

There was no such thing as heroes.

It was a difficult truth to swallow for the ten-year-old I was. I still needed, I still _wanted_ , to believe in heroes. I looked at my classmates. Not so long ago, I had not been so different. I lived with the conviction that whatever might happen, no matter how terrible, my parents, the police, the city, _someone_ would find a way to make it all right. I missed that comfort, even if it was a lie.

Kevin.

Every night I saved him.

"Jeff, are you ready to present your book report?" Mrs. Caldwell called me to the front of the class.

I did not jump at the sound of my name and left my chair, carrying my book and notes with me. I used to love oral presentations. While some of my classmates cowered in their seats, avoiding our teacher's eyes for fear of being called forward, I had no such anxiety. I was always willing to go first and hardly needed to look at my notes. Talking in front of a group was something that came naturally to me, and I didn't see why most people made such a big deal about it. To my parents' delight, my teachers would remark on how I enjoyed debating with my classmates on a number of subjects and how persuasive I could be.

That was before.

I was no more nervous than usual. I simply didn't care. I was stuck in this constant state of boredom that left me feeling annoyed at myself. I tried to shrug it off by falling back on my favourite subjects, but it didn't seem to do the trick. Nothing did.

"Peter Pan is a classic for a reason." I began, trying to sound convincing. "And I'm not saying that cause he's a red head like me."

My classmates giggled, but I did not crack a smile. It had sounded funny when I had first drafted that line, but it now sounded dumb. Well, no matter, I wanted this over and done with, and so I carried on with my presentation:

"You all know Peter Pan, the fun loving hero who-

– Peter Pan is not a hero."

I turned to Carl Swenson, the boy who had spoken up, feeling my frustration build. Carl was such a know-it-all. He was smart and, unfortunately for the rest of the class, he _knew_ it. As such, he felt entitled to show off by speaking out of turn whenever he wanted to. I had never liked Carl. I chose to ignore him.

"Before becoming one of Disney's classic, Peter Pan was the hero of a-

– Peter Pan is not a hero. He's really mean." Carl, again, interrupted me.

"Carl, let Jeff finish his presentation." Mrs. Caldwell intervened. "You can ask questions at the end."

I was usually able to ignore Carl, everybody did, but today, he got on my nerves more than usual. My temper flared; I fumbled with my notes, willing my beating heart to calm down. Taking a deep breath, I dove back into my book report:

"Peter Pan is the leader of the lost boys. Together, they fight-

– Did you miss the part where Peter Pan kills the lost boys?"

That's it! That was _it_! I had had it with the likes of Carl Swenson!

"Shut up, Carl! Nobody cares what you think!" I snapped.

A loud gasp, followed by a ripple of whispers ran through the class. Everybody had always wanted to tell Carl to shut up, but no one had actually said it to his face, least of all in the presence of a teacher! Carl sat up straight in his chair, red in the face, looking torn between humiliation and anger.

"Jeffrey McCallister, that was very rude!" thundered Mrs. Caldwell, rising from her chair. "Apologize, right now!"

Apologizing would've been the smart thing to do, even if I didn't mean it. I had never talked back to a teacher, and I knew I had crossed a line, but for some reason, I found myself incapable of complying.

"Carl started it! He keeps making stuff up to sound interesting!

– I am not!" Carl defended himself. "Peter Pan is evil! He kills the lost boys when they grow too old. It says so in the book!

– That is enough, both of you!" our teacher demanded.

But as I looked at Carl, all I could see was his look of superiority. I'd show him! I'd wipe that smirk off his face, and I shouted back:

"He is _not_ evil! He's a little boy-

– Whose parents abandoned and didn't care to look for!" Carl yelled back, and I lost it.

"Shut up!" I rounded on him. "What do _you_ know anyway? He's just a kid! So what if he's trouble! He needs his mother! He needs his family! All we want is for him to come _home_!" I shouted in his face.

Kevin.

Every night, I saved him.

Carl had shrunk back in his chair and was staring at me in fright. This time, my classmates were equally stunned and did not break into whispers. My cheeks were wet, and I realized with a sense of detachment that I was crying. I should've been ashamed, humiliated; no self-respecting ten-years-old boy cried at school, but I wasn't ashamed.

I didn't feel anything at all.

A hand pressed my shoulder and I whirled around to find Mrs. Caldwell standing there. I expected her to be angry and to be sent to the principal's office, but I saw nothing but sorrow in her eyes. I think I would've preferred anger.

"Jeff, you want to step outside for a while? You can do your presentation another time." she kindly, but firmly suggested.

This was not the first time I had been sent into the hall when I needed some space. It wasn't a punishment. Sometimes I would pace the hallway, go watch the gym class from the upstairs windows or sit at one of the tables. Casting a final glance at Carl who didn't look half as superior anymore, I left the classroom.

In the hall, I saw how I was clutching my Peter Pan book. I walked to my locker and threw it inside before slamming the door shut. It was a stupid book anyway. Pressing my back to my locker, I let myself slide to the floor where I sat.

Kevin.

Every night I saved him.

I don't know how long I sat there until Mrs. Caldwell came to see me. Mrs. Caldwell had a reputation among students to be one of the strictest teachers in school. After learning that I had been assigned to her class, it had not been without some foreboding that I had welcomed the new school year. To make matters worse, she had also taught my sister Linnie back when she was in fourth grade. Linnie had liked Mrs. Caldwell, but then again, Linnie liked all her teachers.

It was not the first time that I had been assigned to the same teacher as one of my siblings; with an older brother and two older sisters, all of whom attended the same elementary school, it was inevitable. I remembered how my first grade teacher had singled me out on the first day of school, all because Buzz had been a troublemaker back in the days, or how my third grade teacher had remarked on how Megan had fared better in most subjects.

Mrs. Caldwell had turned out to be okay. She might have been strict, but she was also fair, not to mention kind. I came to appreciate her kindness during these past months. Back in January, she had come by the house to deliver a large cardboard card with messages from Linnie, mine and Kevin's friends and classmates, as well as the school staff. I knew this must've been her idea.

Since I had come back to school, Mrs. Caldwell held discussions on loss, pain, and sadness with the class. She never asked me to talk about what was going on at home. I would sit and listen as some of the other students talked about a missing pet, or relatives that had passed away. One girl, Judy, had described how her mother had one night gone to bed and never woken up. Those were hard discussions, grown-up discussions. No one laughed or mocked another student for what had been said. Kevin's name was never brought up, but I knew it was Ms. Caldwell's way to help. And she had. My teacher was the only adult, including my own parents, who ever dared to breach the subject of my missing brother.

I was once again reminded of Mrs. Caldwell's kindness as she knelled down to my level and handed me a few tissues. I wiped my face, and blew my nose, but didn't thank her. I knew I had done wrong, but my feelings over the whole thing were so tangled that I didn't know what to say.

"Do you want to come back inside?"

What I wanted was to go home. I knew this could be arranged, but it was the end of the day. I also didn't want them to call home and have my grandmother come pick me up. She would ask questions, and would tell my parents. What would they say? What would _I_ say? So I mumbled, while twisting the tissues in my hand:

"I yelled at Carl.

– We can talk about that tomorrow."

When I still wouldn't look at her, Mrs. Caldwell suggested:

"Do you want to go to the library till the end of the day? It's more comfortable than sitting on the floor."

In that moment, I could not have wished for a better teacher. Mrs. Caldwell never pried. She understood. The library was an acceptable alternative to going home. It was quiet and no one would stare at me.

Ms. Pearl, the librarian, raised her eyes from the index card she was filling when I walked in and smiled upon recognizing me. A few months ago, most teachers and school staff did not have a clue who I was. Now, they all did. They would smile at me, but it was always with this sad smile, full of pity. I don't know why they did that; it was a constant reminder of how different everything was. As if I needed that! I therefore handed the note Mrs. Caldwell had written without returning Ms. Pearl's smile. She didn't bother reading the note, and said:

"We received the new Boxcar Children adventure book this morning. It's not on the shelves yet, but you can have a copy, if you'd like."

She had a twinkle in her eyes as she said this. Ms. Pearl probably thought she was granted me some big favour. I couldn't care less. I was over the Boxcar Children books. Like most kids my age, I was more into Fear Street. Those were edgy! Not that I looked for any more reasons to fear what lurked in the dark; Kevin's disappearance had killed my appetite for scary stories.

"No, thanks."

I walked passed row of books and went to sit at one of the tables by the windows.

Kevin.

Every night I saved him.

I saw it all so clearly; I might just be a kid, not even a teenager, but in my mind, I was faster, stronger and cleverer. I imagined myself sneaking in an old warehouse, an abandoned theater, a busy casino, or some underground lair where my brother was being held captive. Along the way, I would outsmart hordes of enemies; slick and silent ninjas, loud cigar smoking gangsters, or scary hooded figures. No matter how many of them there was, how well they were armed, I would always, always win.

After all, a smart kid always wins against a bunch of idiots.

Or so the story goes.

Playing the hero was also a way for me to forget the rest. Words I didn't want to think about, memories I'd rather forget. Like the awful things I had told Kevin that night.

I liked to think I'm a good person, a good brother. But that day, I had really not been nice to Kevin. And the thing was, I really liked Kevin; he laughed at my jokes, let me have the top bunk bed, helped me build Lego spacecraft and was no tattletale like Linnie. So why did I take such pleasure in baiting him?

I had never told anyone this, but I had watched Buzz stuff the last slice of cheese pizza in his mouth that night, guessing the scene that would ensue. Why didn't I stop him? Buzz had no preference when it came to pizza toppings, so I knew he had been out to annoy to Kevin. Not only had I not stopped Buzz, but had anticipated our brother's reaction and waited for him to throw a fit.

I thought it would be an easy way to have a laugh at his expense. I knew Kevin would get in trouble and…that's exactly what I wanted. I had snickered to myself as I watched Kevin purse his lips and glare at Buzz who was taunting him. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect things to escalate so fast. I did not see Kevin launch himself at Buzz, the next thing I knew, there had been milk everywhere, on my shirt, on my plate. People were shouting all around me, my father had rushed in, worsening the situation; my uncle Frank lost his temper…

I should've felt bad for Kevin as he stood there before all of us, but in all honesty, I was annoyed at him for ruining it. Not my pizza, not the passports, but the scene itself. Instead of a good laugh, we had ended up with a mess on our hands. The prank had backfired, and in that moment, I blamed none other than Kevin for it.

"Kevin, you are such a disease!

– Shut up!"

Kevin's defiance had fueled my own dislike for him. I took malicious pleasure in watching our mother drag him away, my desire to see Kevin brought down a peg finally soothed.

That was my last memory of my brother.

The last words I had spoken to him.

I had never told anyone this. Not even Buzz. I couldn't. I had difficulty admitting it to myself. Those feelings were so mean. Petty. I was ashamed of them. Ashamed of what it said about me. Had I saved one lousy slice of pizza for Kevin... How hard was that!

Saved by pizza.

So stupid, but true.

The next day, when I had seen my mother and father racing down the airplane aisle, asking us where Kevin was, and if we'd seen him, the answer had sprung to my lips. I didn't need to search my memory, I knew where Kevin was, and that was exactly where we had left him: in the attic. I had almost reminded my mom of this when I realized what this meant and froze in my seat. Riddled with guilt, I had not said a word as my mother, again and again, interrogated my cousin Heather.

And that was _before_ I found out…

I couldn't apologize to Kevin. It was way too late to take anything back or to make it up to him. So instead, I ran to his rescue every time I closed my eyes. I became the brother I would've wanted to be. The big brother Kevin deserved, the one he could count on, the one who should've protected him.

The one who would save him.

If only in my dreams.

That's how I sat until the bell rung, signalling the end of the day. I went back to my locker and threw on my coat and boots as quickly as possible. I didn't look for Carl. Most of my classmates steered clear of me, though I felt their eyes on me.

"Hey Jeff… You okay?"

I lifted my head and saw that two of my friends, Christopher and Scott, were waiting for me.

"Sure. I'm fine." I lied.

"So, I heard you let Carl have it, huh?" Christopher said, leaning against the locker next to mine.

I shot a look at Scott; he was in my class, but Christopher was not. Scott had not wasted a second to spread the word about my scene with Carl. I'm not sure if this was a good or a bad thing. I hoped he had not mentioned the tears.

"He… interrupted my book report."

It wasn't important anymore. The anger I had thought justified not an hour ago had faded away, leaving me feeling sheepish.

"I wish I could've seen it!" Christopher said with admiration.

"And you'll get away with it too!" Scott added with a confident smile.

Although Carl was annoying and needed to be put in his place, I had not enjoyed the emotions he had awoken in me. I had not been prepared for the anger and pain his words had sparked.

"I'm not… Mrs. Caldwell said we'd talk about it tomorrow.

– Yeah, but she likes you." Scott waved it off.

I was two seconds away from asking him when had I become our teacher's pet, only to shut my mouth. I didn't want to hear my friends' answer.

"You're not staying for the photography club?"

I heard the disappointment in Christopher's voice as I grabbed my backpack and put my hat on.

"No.

– You missed the young entrepreneurs meeting yesterday." Scott remarked.

"I know.

– But the pet walking thing was your idea; we were supposed to work on posters and adds together." Christopher reminded me.

"I know… Now's not a good time, okay?"

I didn't have the heart to tell them to scrap that business idea. My parents wouldn't let me walk Chester on my own after school anymore, let alone our neighbors' dogs.

"What about the debate club?" Christopher asked, walking with me down the hall. "When are you coming back? Mr. Miller said our team needed to work extra hard.

– We haven't won one debate since you've left." Scott told me quietly.

I was involved in many after school activities; there was the international club on Monday, young entrepreneurs on Tuesday, photography on Wednesday, debate on Thursday and film on Friday, most of which I participated with Christopher and Scott. My parents didn't make me give up the clubs, I had not officially dropped out, but I didn't have the same drive anymore.

Part of me missed it all, but… It was strange; when I was home, I wanted to be with my friends so I could think about something other than Kevin, and when I was with my friends, the only thing I longed for was to go home. Attending classes was also more tiring than I remembered and by the end of the day, I had difficulty concentrating or doing my homework.

"I don't know when I'll be back, okay? Listen, I have to go." I told my friends before walking out the door.

Outside, I saw there were several teachers supervising the bus stop. That was new. It was also a new school policy to have an increased number of teachers patrolling the playgrounds at recess. They never said so, but I knew this was because of what had happened to Kevin. How stupid! No one had snatched my brother from a playground in broad day light.

I spotted Linnie not too far away. She was surrounded by her girlfriends, as always. I knew those girls well; they usually did a good job pretending I did not exist. Since our return to school, they had adopted a new attitude I didn't know what to make of.

Not only was I welcomed in their mist, but they would close-in around my sister and I, shielding us from the other students. I'm not sure Linnie noticed how intimidating her friends could be. I stayed a few steps away, careful not to draw her friend's attention.

As I watched Linnie, I suddenly realized she would be going to middle school next year. That never used to bother me too much, but now it did. My eyes were drawn to the other side of school where the kindergarten through second grade classes were. Without Kevin, I would be the only one left in elementary school. It was weird. I had never given it much thought. I was never supposed to be alone. I shook myself out of it. Next year was a lifetime away. Kevin would be back home by then, I just knew it.

Lost in thoughts, a small boy in a tan coat and Christmas beanie suddenly caught my eye. A rush of adrenaline made me snap to attention and my entire being screamed.

 _Kevin!_

I tensed up in anticipation, only to discover it wasn't Kevin. It wasn't Kevin at all. It was our neighbor, Mitch Murphy. I felt something inside me die as his identity sunk-in.

"Mitch… Don't sneak up on me like that!" I recovered, trying not to sound too crushed.

A second look at Mitch confirmed how different his and Kevin's coats were. His was more grey than tan and Mitch's beanie was covered in blue stripes and not red reindeer. Still, for a second, I thought… I mean they were the same height, had a similar haircut…

Mitch didn't remark on how troubled I was. He had never been good at reading people's body language.

"Tomorrow's my birthday." he announced very seriously. "I'm turning nine."

I didn't know what to say, besides:

"Oh… Happy birthday.

– Actually, I'm having a party on Saturday. There's going to be a petting zoo with frogs, lizards, snakes, and stuff. My mom is making a rainbow cake and there'll be balloons and masks, and games.

– Sounds fun."

Mitch always talked too much. I didn't see why he was telling me all this. He wasn't _my_ friend but Kevin's. Hands in his pocket, Mitch wasn't smiling. He didn't look eager or proud as he discussed his upcoming birthday party. I saw him frown.

"My mom said I could invite anyone I wanted. A lot of kids in my class will be there.

– That's… nice.

– I asked my mom if Kevin could come."

It was like being sucker-punched. Mitch's frown deepened as he continued:

"My mom said Kevin couldn't come. She said Kevin was lost and that you didn't know where he was. How come you don't know where Kevin is?"

Mitch didn't say it, but I could see it in his face. Families don't lose one another. Lost for words, I stared at Mitch who stared back, unblinking.

"Where's Kevin?" he asked again.

"I… We don't know."

His stare was painful, and I didn't know how to end this discussion without running away.

"Is Kevin in France? Did he get lost there? My mom said they don't speak English over there. Maybe Kevin is lost and don't know how to ask for directions."

Mitch then stopped talking and looked at me, waiting for an explanation, an answer, _something,_ and I had none. I shook slightly as I didn't want to think about all the possibilities his flow of questions raised.

"Kevin's not in France." I said, finding my voice. "He's not lost. Bad people took him."

I saw Mitch' eyes widened with shock.

"Bad people? What bad people?"

How could his parents not tell him about this? His family had been a victim as much as ours had been. For a horrible second, I thought how easily the situation could have been reversed, how the burglars could've taken Mitch instead of Kevin.

I wished they had.

I should've been ashamed of myself, but I wasn't. If I had to choose between Kevin and Mitch, the choice was easy. A trade. Yes, I would've traded Mitch any day to have Kevin back.

"Bad people." I repeated flatly. "They say the bad people that flooded your house took Kevin."

Mitch looked startled by this news.

"The burglars took Kevin? Why?

– We don't know, okay? They just took him."

I didn't mean to be curt with Mitch. I didn't want to talk about it, about Kevin, especially not with someone that had no more answers than I did.

"They took my remote control car.

– What?

– My remote control car. The one Santa brought me. The burglars took it."

Was Mitch seriously comparing Kevin's kidnapping to the loss of his toy? I was about this give him a piece of my mind when Mitch mumbled, kicking some rocks around:

"Maybe they gave it to Kevin. I wouldn't mind… He likes cars. That way… that way he would have something to play with."

His words washed my anger away.

"Yeah… Kevin would like that."

We were both quiet for a moment until Mitch's mother called him from the car.

"They ruined everything! I hate those stupid burglars!" he said with a strangled voice before rushing past me.

"Yeah, me too." I whispered as I watched Mitch run towards his mother.

I had not been prepared for this roller-coaster of emotions. My legs felt weak, like after a long run. My head and eyes hurt. The sun was still shining, but I was tired. I wanted to go home. I mercifully saw a familiar face waiting on the sidewalk across the street. I cut myself a path through Linnie's girlfriends and nudged her:

"Buzz is here." I informed her. "Time to go."

There was a time when we didn't need Buzz to walk us to school and back home. Our school was a few streets away, but our parents insisted. It was either walking with Buzz, or our grandmother. We chose Buzz. I could not imagine going to school every day with my grandmother. How embarrassing! Then again, there were many parents hanging around the school ground these days…

"Maggie said she saw you in the hall again." My sister nagged as we walked toward Buzz. "Don't tell me you made trouble, Jeff.

– Shut up, Linnie!"

I didn't own her an explanation. I knew it was a matter of time before she heard all about Carl, but she was my sister, we didn't talk about that stuff. Besides, knowing Linnie, she would lecture me.

"Hey Buzz." I greeted our brother.

"Jeff got in trouble." Linnie informed him, looking at me disapprovingly.

"No I didn't, shut up!"

Buzz didn't ask any question. He had made plenty of trouble when he had been my age; lecturing wasn't his style.

"What did Mitch want?" he asked instead.

So he had witnessed our discussion. I looked over to where Mitch and his mother were standing. From the stubborn look on Mitch's face and her crestfallen expression, I could easily guess the topic of their discussion.

"They didn't tell him. About Kevin and the burglars. They told him Kevin got lost."

The three of us watched our neighbors in silence.

"What'd you tell him?" Linnie asked, frowning.

"What do you think I said? I told him the truth. He shouldn't go around thinking Kevin was lost in France!

– You shouldn't have." Linnie said, shaking her head. "He's just a little boy."

He's older than Kevin, I wanted to point out, but the words wouldn't come. God, Kevin _was_ younger than Mitch!

"He should know about… about what happened.

– His parents probably didn't want to scare him." Linnie reasoned.

Linnie understood adults much better than I did. Unlike me, she didn't seem to resent the Murphys, or find their explanation for Kevin's disappearance insulting.

"So what was I supposed to say?" I mumbled angrily.

"You should've lied." Buzz said, staring at Mitch. "You should've lied to protect him. That's what parents do."

As I looked at Buzz, I wondered for the first time since our return from Paris how much our own parents lied to us. I remembered all my unanswered questions. Were our parents avoiding them to protect us? Protecting us from what exactly? And if so, what did that mean for Kevin?

"Buzz? You wouldn't lie to us, would you? If you found something out about Kevin, you'd tell us, right?"

Buzz would usually tell me to mind my own business whenever he didn't feel like sharing. The fact he didn't spoke volume.

"There's nothing to tell, Jeff." was his abrupt response. "Come on, let's go home."

Nothing to tell… Nobody had anything to tell. Walking down the street, I looked once more at Mitch without seeing him.

Kevin.

I lowered my eyes and bit my lips as I followed my siblings.

Every night I saved him.

It was a comforting lie.

But lie all the same.

 _AN:_

 _I hope you liked this latest chapter! I had a lot of difficulty connecting with Jeff. I have drafted many scenes from all the other members of Kevin's family, but Jeff was a challenge. It might be because I always found the insult he spat at Kevin particularly hurtful._

 _I would also like to take this opportunity to address the age of Kevin's sibling. The age I have settled on are a mix of what is seen in the movie, what appears in the movie script and the books from Strasser._

 _Buzz: In most sources, it is simply stated that he is the elder and a teenager. I know the actor was thirteen when he portrayed Buzz in the original Home Alone, but as he was already taller than John Heard, I decided to age him up a bit and have him being fifteen in Christmas of 1990._

 _Buzz would be a high school freshman (grade 9)._

 _Megan: According to Strasser, Megan was also a teenager at the time, and I always thought she looked like a fourteen-year-old girl. She would be in her last year of middle school (grade 8)._

 _Linnie: When Linnie was introduced in Strasser's book, he states clearly that she was not a teenager yet and sets her age at twelve (grade 6), which I kept._

 _Jeff: Jeff was tricky. He and Kevin are two years apart. Since Kevin is eight and is in second grade, this would make Jeff ten-years-old and in fourth grade, although I will concede that the actor looked too old to be only ten._


	6. Good Help is Hard to Find

_Hello dear readers!_

 _This is actually the second scene I ever wrote in this series. This first one is from Linnie's point of view that has yet to be published. I first drafted this scene back in June 2018, so I am very happy to upload it today! Over time, I have fleshed it out and made sure it was in line with the previous chapters._

 _Enjoy!_

Good Help is Hard to Find

 _April 24, 1991_

I was at school when our stupid furnace gave out and died. As if we needed this on top of everything else! The moment I stepped into the house, I should've known; it was too chilly. I didn't think much of it was first, distracted by Chester who greeted me at the door, tail wagging and whining happily. I raised the thermostat almost as an afterthought but when I failed to hear the familiar roar of the furnace in the basement, I knew something was wrong.

"Mom?" I called as I took off my coat and patted Chester's head to calm him down.

No one answered. My grandmother would've usually welcomed me at the door and ushered me in the kitchen where a fresh batch of cookies would be waiting. But she wasn't there anymore. Her absence was keenly felt.

She would be back I reminded myself; She had not deserted us. As soon as she had settled her affairs in South Carolina, she would be back. It wouldn't be the same, though; my grandmother would no longer live with us, she had rented an apartment where she would move upon her return.

I frowned slightly at the idea. I didn't mind her having her own place, I knew that wouldn't keep my grandmother from stopping by the house every day, but I didn't like what it meant; her moving back to Illinois marked how much our lives had changed and how long term arrangements had to be made now that Kevin- No. I wouldn't let myself think about that. I could only handle things one day at the time. If I thought too hard about what our lives would be like in a week, a month or, a year from now, I would scream.

I nonetheless could not wait for my grandmother's return. And it wasn't just for her cookies. Our house was so big! I had never minded before, but now… I shuddered and locked the front door behind me. I was tempted to set our new alarm system, but resisted. We were in the middle of the day and both my mother and Chester were home. We were perfectly safe I kept repeating to myself as I toured the house, looking for my mother.

I located her in the solarium, exactly where I had left her that morning. My mother was dressed and her hair was done. She had her sketching book in front of her, pencil in hand, but she wasn't moving. She was staring out the window. An untouched cup of coffee, I suspect the one my father had poured for her that morning, sat on the table next to her.

I stood there for a moment, watching her. My mother was so beautiful; I wished I looked more like her. I always thought her shiny copper hair had been wasted on Jeff. Unlike Linnie and Kevin, I had not inherited her father's Scandinavian blond hair and I had been stuck with an unremarkable shade of brown. I entered the room, sighing to myself.

My mother did not respond to my presence until I touched her shoulder.

"Megan. You're back from school already?" she welcomed me with a warm, but tired smile.

I felt my heart tighten. It would seem my mom was always tired these days. Even her carefully applied makeup could not conceal the dark circles under her eyes and a paleness that had nothing to do with her natural fair complexion. I didn't like seeing her looking so lost. It wasn't normal. It wasn't the energy driven mother I knew. But after all these months, who could blame her for being tired? After watching her struggle and fight day after day to no avail, I was afraid my mother might've reached her breaking point. I didn't want to think about it. I needed her, I needed her strength. We all did.

"Mom, aren't you cold?

– Hum? No. Maybe. Is it cold in here?" she asked absentmindedly.

I didn't press the issue or brought up my concerns regarding the furnace, choosing to change the subject:

"Do you want a cup of tea?

– That sounds lovely, Megan.

– I'll be right back."

I went to the kitchen, followed by Chester who was waiting for his afternoon meal. While I fed the dog, I made sure the new locks on the kitchen door were in place. I avoided looking at the doggie door. There was nothing I could do about it, except wishing we could remove it. I poured water in the kettle, trying not to think about it. The door might be convenient for Chester, but I didn't trust it anymore. I suppose it was ridiculous to think anyone could crawl in through there, but the fear would not leave my mind. It was one of many irrational fears I had developed since… Since Christmas.

While I waited for the water to boil, I took a deep breath and made my way to the basement. I looked over to Chester who was busy eating his kibbles, regretting feeding him right away. For all my taunting of Kevin, I didn't like the basement any more than he did. Midway down the stairs, I slowed down to make sure the basement door was still secure.

The place was creepy. We had too much junk. My parents had planned to hold a yard sale this spring, but it definitely wasn't a priority anymore. Stuff was piled all over the place and there were too many dark corners the lights did no reach. Anyone could be hiding down there. I wasn't scared of the bogeyman. I knew the bogeyman did not exist. There were other real monsters that walked around in plain sight.

I couldn't let my imagination run wild. Not now. I had to focus on the real problem. I surveyed the basement to check everything was in place one last time, before moving to the furnace. I kept my fingers crossed all the way, cursing and praying I had been mistaking.

I had not.

The furnace, that giant metal beetle that sat in our basement, laid there, cold dead. Okay, deep breaths. This had happened before. What had my father done? Turned the breaker on and off. I gave it a try. Nothing. Great. Now what?

I loathed having to bring this new problem to my mother's attention. So I didn't. I made us both a cup of tea, returned to the solarium, and sat with my mother to tell her about my day. That was our daily ritual now. My mother didn't have much to say, but as long as I spoke, she listened.

There were many things I couldn't tell her, like how I had thrown up in a bush on my way to school after seeing a blond boy that resembled Kevin. Or how I was flunking math. And history. And science. And I definitely would never tell her about letting Max Bates go to third base on me. That was stupid. I don't know why I let him. I didn't even like him that way. I guess I should consider myself lucky he didn't blab to his friends about it, as most guys would've. Since then, I had seen him wait for me outside school a couple of times, but I had managed to avoid him.

Instead, I told my mom about the little things, the useless things, like how Jacky's father had spent a fortune on her spring dance dress. How Mindy had been grounded for a month after her parents had caught her and her boyfriend in the liqueur cabinet. I told her about our substitute teacher who reeked because he was a cigarette, cigar _and_ pipe smoker, or how our school had hired a new French teacher who did not speak a word of English.

In those few brief moments, I had my mother back. The one I would confide into, the one that would offer me advice and got me out of trouble without asking any questions. It never lasted. We would eventually cook dinner, and I'd lose her again to her dream-like state. She would cook, and answer questions, but she was on autopilot mode. Her mind was drawn back to my brother, wherever he may be. How could I burden her with our furnace problems?

So I decided to tell my father. The furnace sounded like the sort of thing he would handle. I waited until after dinner to seek him out. By then, my dad had retreated to his office upstairs. It wasn't unusual for him to review some files or call clients in the evening. The door of his office was ajar; my father never closed it, unless he worked late into the night. Overhearing him talking to someone on the phone, I rapped on the door before entering the room.

My father was sitting at his desk, holding the phone in the crook of his neck, while making notes on documents and binders spread open in front of him. He smiled briefly at me, showing me I was welcomed, before diving back into his file.

"What can I say Ian, I ran the numbers twice already and they don't jive. I'll need an update by tomorrow morning; I'm meeting Clarkson at ten."

I crossed the room and sat on the loveseat in front of the window. As long as I didn't bother him, or distracted him, my father didn't mind me staying. I liked being in his office. My father projected this aura of calm strength that reassured me. Sometimes I would do my homework in here. I liked the idea of the two of us working side by side.

"Get those numbers right, Ian; their stocks have been in freefall since last quarter, but we have to be sure. Now's not the time to make a mistake, they're ripe for the picking. Of course they'll fold! Don't worry about that and make sure everything's ready for the merger."

It was strange to hear my father use this tone. I was once again reminded that he wasn't just my dad, he was a businessman. The boss. Business is business, he would always say, no place for sentiment. That meant not being afraid to ruffle some feathers. Being the bad guy was a part of the job. I didn't understand exactly what his job entailed, but I liked to think my father was a good guy. His actions and decisions didn't hurt anyone. It was business.

To pass the time, my eyes circled the room. They rested a moment on the near empty glass of spirit that was sitting on my father's desk. That was new. My parents would often share a glass of wine over dinner, and drink beer over the summer holidays, but I had rarely seen my father drink spirits. Especially while he worked. It had started after… after all his interviews with the police.

That glass of spirits worried me. I peered at my father. He didn't look drunk, I could tell; his eyes were sharp and his speech was normal. I hoped I was worrying over nothing, but this new habit made me uneasy. It was bad news.

My friend Stacy had a drunk for a mother. That woman could drink one or two bottles of wine to herself _every_ night. She would drink until she passed out on the couch or on the kitchen floor. Her alcoholism had become so bad Stacy's father had left. He had not asked Stacy to leave with him. What a jerk. Stacy couldn't run. She was struck. No wonder she couldn't wait to turn eighteen!

Stacy didn't talk about it, but we all knew that her mother was the reason she never invited us over and spent as much time as possible away from home. I hoped this wasn't a reflection into my family's future.

On that thought, my eyes rested on a set of family pictures displayed on the wall. It was from the last Fourth of July. I remembered that day well. I had been somewhat reluctant to come along, as I had been invited by my best friend Caroline to go to her cottage for the day. It had been sweltering hot all week and the idea of a cool refreshing swim in the lake had sounded heavenly. But my father had insisted on a family day. Since he was so busy with work, we couldn't spend that much time with him, and so I agreed to go to Caroline's cottage some other time.

Our family had spent the day in town, enjoying the parade and fireworks in the evening. I had had a good time. The pictures had been taken sometime after dinner. The night had fallen and the streets were brightly lit and full of people. On the first one, my mother and I were laughing. Jeff and Buzz were making faces at the camera on another. There was this cute shot of Kevin and Linnie, sitting on a low wall together, eating identical melting ice cream cones. With their matching blond hair, they looked like twins!

Our family was beautiful.

Picture perfect!

Anyone looking at those pictures could see we were a happy family. Did it really matter that not long after those pictures were taken, Buzz had tripped Kevin who had dropped his ice cream? Did anyone remember how my little brother had punched me in the stomach in a failed attempt to hit Buzz? Did anyone care that, in my anger, I had called Kevin a bastard? Or that Linnie had accused him of always ruining our family outing? When Kevin had bawled back that we were all a bunch of jerks, my mother had severely scolded him for misbehaving in public and Kevin had quieted down, sulking in angry silence.

A real picture perfect family.

But I also remembered how Jeff had later shared his cotton candy with Kevin, how Buzz had hoisted him in the air so he could see the firework better at the pier, and how he had fallen asleep against me in the car on the ride back home.

There was no such thing as a perfect family, but I knew we were a loving one. No one would ever convince me otherwise.

I turned my attention back to my father who had ended his call. I knew I had to tell him about the furnace, but it somehow felt unfair to disrupt him.

"Dad? I need to tell you something.

– Hum? Yes, what is it, Megan?

– I think… there's something wrong with the furnace.

– The furnace?" my father repeated.

His eyes were still on the documents in front of him, and I could tell he wasn't listening.

"The furnace, Dad. The one in the basement." I felt stupid for having to specify. We only had the one furnace. "When I came home from school, I went in the basement and checked it out. It won't start.

– It won't start, huh?"

Again, my father did not seem to be listening. There was a time when I might've gotten annoyed at my father for ignoring me, but his behaviour had become another reason for me to worry. Hoping to stir some reaction out of him, I went straight to the point:

"I think the furnace might be broken, Dad."

He did not give the issue the attention I thought it deserved, flipping through some pages as he responded:

"Oh, I'll have a look at it before going to bed.

– I tried the breaker too." I insisted, to drive the point home.

"Thanks, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

I smiled weakly and tried to forget about the furnace. My father had said he would take care of it, and he would, right? Had this been my old father, the one I could rely on, I would've believed him. This new father was everywhere at once, which amounted to him never getting anything done.

As predicted, days later, I was disheartened to see he hadn't called anyone yet. We were at the end of April. The days were comfortable, or at least the sunny ones were, but the nights were still cold. We couldn't go on forever without a furnace.

I decided to give it one more try. It was morning and my father was finishing his coffee while scanning the newspaper.

"Dad? About the furnace…

– Oh, right. Don't worry about it I'll-"

But then the phone rang. My father automatically reached for it. Buzz took advantage of his distraction to grab the paper for himself. My brother had never shown any interest in the news, until Kevin's disappearance. He wasn't reading the news in hopes of hearing about the investigation; detective Kincaid was kind and always let us know if anything came up, which was never. He'd still call once in a while to check on us. I don't think that was a part of his job, but he was nice that way. Buzz had taken to reading the news every morning to make sure there weren't any articles about us.

The journalists my parents had turned to for help in the days following my brother's abduction had turned vicious once they had run out of things to say. When our family's tragedy became old news, they twisted it around to make it appear more sinister than it was. Their interest shifted from sympathy to irony, if not downright cruelty in some cases. My father managed to ignore it, but it dismayed my mother to no end. After finding her one morning crying over a new sordid twist on our brother's possible faith, Buzz had taken it upon himself to read the news every morning and destroy any article that might upset her. If my mother ever noticed the missing pages from the newspaper, she never said.

My attention was drawn back to my father's phone conversation.

"Portland? In Maine? When? Of course we do, right away. I'll send the check at the usual address."

I looked over at Buzz who was also listening. We both knew what this was about; it wasn't the first time we'd overheard similar conversations. When our father hung up, Buzz's the one who spoke.

"What's in Portland, Dad?"

I shot him a dirty look and shook my head, hoping Buzz would take the hint and drop it, but he ignored me.

"Oh, that was detective Wallace. He received some information about Kevin. He might've been spotted in Portland. He's going over there to investigate."

My brother and I exchanged a look. Detective Wallace. The private investigator my father had hired when the police had failed to find Kevin. So far, he hadn't had any more success than they had. Buzz thought he was a crook. I did not disagree.

Our father finished his cup of coffee and Buzz and I watched him leave the kitchen to find our mother.

"Buzz, you think Kevin's in Portland?" I asked, careful not to be overheard by our parents or our siblings. "I mean, he could be. He has to be _somewhere_."

My brother shook his head darkly before returning to the newspaper.

"Not a chance, no way. That guy's playing Dad for cash."

That's what I had been afraid of. The thought of that man, taking advantage of my father's hopes disgusted and enraged me.

"Shouldn't we tell Dad?

– No. He's not ready to hear it yet."

My brother's insight into our father's mind surprised me. After a renewed silence, I asked him:

"You think he'll remember the furnace?

– Nope."

My shoulders dropped. There was no way I'd take it to my mom. Only one thing left to do, my brother and I both knew it.

"You want me to take care of it?" volunteered Buzz.

"No. It's fine, I'll call someone."

Buzz and I took care of little things our parents were too distracted to think of these days. When spring came around, Buzz and his friends had taken the Christmas lights down. I took Jeff and Linnie to the hairdresser and made dentist appointments. I remembered when to take out the trash, Buzz made grocery lists and kept a close watch on the bills, making sure they were paid on time. And it would now appear that I would have to take care of the furnace.

So that afternoon I decided to skip French, it wasn't as if I'd miss anything anyway, and sat down with the phone book to look up some furnace repair services. It was overwhelming to see the number of companies that were listed in there. I didn't know which one to call, so I thought I'd try the ones with the biggest adds first.

That didn't turn out so well. The men I spoke with were all impatient. They didn't take me seriously, probably because I sounded so young. While some rudely interrupted me when I couldn't answer their questions about the furnace, others claimed to be booked for weeks, but I suspect that might've been an excuse not to take the job. That's without mentioning the ones that hung up on me after I told them our home address. Those were the most hurtful. I could always tell they recognised our address from the pause at the other end of the line. Whatever their reasons, condemnation, or maybe they couldn't bear the thought of stepping into our house, it left me feeling resentful and ashamed at the same time. As if our family had done something wrong!

The next day, I avoided my friends at lunch and went to sit by myself at the top of the football stands. I took out my list and studied my dwelling options with a frown. Most numbers had been crossed off already. I had left voicemail messages all around, but I was not holding my breath. This was so frustrating! I wished I didn't have to deal with that stuff anymore. I wished our life could go back to the way it used to be. To the way they were supposed to be. For all of us. What wouldn't I have given to see Kevin one more time; to complain about those noisy cartoons he watched or to listen to him practice his piano. I hadn't even said goodbye!

I stopped myself right there, realising I was sobbing in the middle of the football field stands. What if somebody saw me I'd just-

"Hey Megan, you okay?"

Damn! No! There was Joshua Reed, looking up to me from the ground. Was I imagining his look of concern? I quickly wiped my cheeks. Great, just great! I had been looking for a reason to speak to Joshua for ages, and he had to come find me now, when I probably looked like a drowned rat!

"Oh, hey Joshua. Yeah, I'm fine." I pretended, smiling through my tears.

He didn't believe me; while most guys would've run away at the sight of a crying girl, he didn't. I hadn't finished my sentence before he had climbed up the stands to hand me a tissue. That was sweet of him.

"Can I sit here, or do you want to be alone?"

I had been looking forward to this moment for so long, yet I wanted nothing more than to disappear. I desperately wanted to reach for my compact mirror in my bag, but I knew how ridiculous that would be.

"You can stay, if… if you want to."

My mind cringed. I had been imagining my first conversation with Joshua for ages, and this weak response had nothing in common with the witty and spirited retort I had envisioned! Way to make an impression…

"I heard what happened. To your brother, I mean."

I felt my smile freeze in place. Kevin. I had not been prepared to talk about Kevin. Not with Joshua. Not as an icebreaker.

No matter how many weeks had passed, I was never prepared when people sprung Kevin's disappearance on me. I cleared my mind of any thoughts and I crossed my arms to hide how my nails dug into my flesh to keep myself from busting into tears once more.

"I know it's been months, but I'm real sorry." I dimly heard Joshua say. "Your family didn't deserve that. No one does.

– Thank you."

I had spoken those empty words so many times they were practically a reflex by now. Joshua stood there, hesitating, perhaps noticing my distant stare.

"Your brother sounded like a nice kid.

– He was, I mean he is.

– I hope the police will find him soon."

This time, I did not answer. Everybody said how they hoped Kevin would be found. Hoping wasn't going to bring him home. Those were nothing but words. They didn't mean anything.

"You took care of your brother after school, didn't you?

– Yeah… I did."

I didn't mention to Joshua how I used to resent having to watch over Kevin every day after school. Why did I have to be stuck home with my kid brother while my friends were free to hang out at the mall, ogle the football players as they practiced, or go to each other's house! Kevin was such a burden! How many times had I wished I didn't have a brother?

My wish had come true, and I hated myself for it.

"I have a kid brother too. He can be a real pain in the ass somethings, but if anything were to happen to him, I don't know what I'd-" Joshua was frowning angrily as he said this, but then paused. "You must miss him a lot." he finished, this time more composed.

Missing was not a strong enough word to describe what my family was going through. When I didn't say anything, Joshua fidgeted under my gaze. Under different circumstances, I might've been amused by his discomfort and teased him about it, but my mind was empty, unfeeling.

"If you don't wanna talk about it, I get it." Joshua finally said, breaking the awkward silence. "But if you need help with something…

– That's nice Joshua, thanks."

Now that Joshua had fulfilled the social conventions, and expressed his sympathy as best as he could, I expected him to take his leave. Instead, he noticed the discarded list next to me.

"You're looking for someone to repair your furnace?"

The change of subject was abrupt, but came as a relief. The furnace was a safe subject.

"Oh yeah." I tried to remain casual. "It's been giving us some trouble. I'm making a list for my dad" I lied.

I didn't want people to think there might be something wrong at home and moved to put the list away, but Joshua was quicker and took it out of my hand.

"Had any luck?

– Not really." I admitted.

"Well here's your problem, you've been calling the big guys.

– And that's bad?" I asked, surprised by his assertion.

"See, the way big companies work is they sub-contract to independent contractors. Those don't care about the quality of their work or services. Their reputation isn't at stake and they are paid either way. Plus you're a girl; they'll take advantage of that and boost their prices, hoping you won't know the difference.

– Oh. Okay. Thanks for the tips…

– You know, my mom hired some handy men when she restored the kitchen. They worked well and fast and they cleaned up after. That's important too. Big companies won't think to do that and leave you with a mess to clean up. Those guys knew their stuff and offered my mom options based on how much she was willing to pay. No surprise bill at the end! I think they took care of heating too; you want me to give you their number?"

I lit up.

"You'd do that?

– Sure, my mom gave their number to a bunch of people in the neighborhood, and we've heard no complaints!

– That'd be great, thanks Joshua!

– No problem. You want to give me your number? I'll call you tonight."

I felt the gentle flutter of butterflies in my stomach. I knew it wasn't the time, I was still feeling tearful over the memory of Kevin, but damn, that was Joshua! I'd had the hots for him for over a year! I acted all cool, but my inner girl was squealing with delight.

I didn't tell anyone about my encounter with Joshua, not even Caroline, in case he forgot to call or decided to stand me up. A part of me hoped he wouldn't call. It wasn't the nerves; I had flirted with boys before and been on many dates, but this was different. The timing was all wrong. I had hoped to capture Joshua's interest, but I was now filled with uneasiness. One moment, I longed for his call, the next I wished I had never given him my phone number. What would people say if they knew I was flirting with Joshua at a time like this? What would my parents think? By the end of the day, I was a nervous wreck. I kept jumping every time the phone rang and glowered at people for holding up the line for more than a minute.

As luck would have it, I had both hands elbow deep in soapy water, doing the dishes when Joshua called. I wasn't quick enough and Linnie answered before I could.

"Megan, a boy's on the phone for you!"

Why couldn't Linnie keep that information to herself? I avoided Buzz's eyes and mumbled as I walked past him, feeling the need to justify myself:

"It's about the furnace."

There was no way I would talk to Joshua in the kitchen with my siblings listening and our parents sitting at the table. I quickly put Joshua on hold and hurried to take the call in my bedroom.

As I picked up the phone, Linnie poked her head in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with interest:

"Is it Joshua?" I saw my sister mouth, excitingly.

I felt myself blush in embarrassment and quickly ejected Linnie from our bedroom, shutting the door behind her to have some privacy. Linnie knew all about my crush on Joshua, as did anyone who knew me. Her happiness at his call highlighted my own guilt.

My conscience could not entirely quiet the little voice in my mind that was singing in triumph: Joshua had called! He had called _me_! Just as he had promised, he would! He liked me, I knew it!

This was business, I tried to persuade myself. Nothing more. We really needed someone to fix our furnace, and since no one else had returned my calls… Joshua, however, had more than business in mind. After giving me the contact information for the handy men, he didn't end our call. I didn't find an excuse to hang up either.

We talked for a while about this and that. I had almost convinced myself that our conversation was perfectly innocent when Joshua caught me by surprised by asking me if I'd go to the spring dance with him. I hadn't planned on going, not with everything that was going on, but before I could think it over, I had already accepted.

Was I flattering myself, or did Joshua sound pleased by my answer? I felt a little giddy after hanging up, but it didn't last. Guilt quickly caught up with me. Normally I would've jumped back on the line to call Caroline. We would've spent the next hour going over what I would wear and how I'd do my hair and makeup, but I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to talk to anybody. As confusing as it was, I suddenly felt miserable for having been asked out by Joshua.

Tears rose to my eyes for the second time that day and I grabbed my pillow to muffle my cries. That's how my mother found me when she came knocking on my door a few minutes later. Shit. I did not want her to see me crying! It would hurt her. I wiped my tears in a hurry, but it was too late, she had already opened the door.

"Megan, Linnie told me that was Joshua Reed- Oh honey, what's wrong?"

I cursed my sister in silence. She couldn't keep her mouth shut, could she? But then my mother was there, holding me tight and I forgot all about my anger. It felt so good to have her there with me, and I held on to her, not caring about my tears anymore.

"What did he say sweetheart? Was he mean to you?" she asked, cradling me against her.

"No." I admitted meekly. "He invited me to the spring dance.

– Honey, that's wonderful!

– No it's not!" I cried. "How can I go to that stupid dance when… when…"

When Kevin might be dead, starving, or going through some other form of horror I didn't want to think about. Kevin… who was so little and helpless… Kevin who was alone with those awful people…Kevin, who needed our mother so much more than I did! I held on to her more tightly. I sucked! How could I be so mean and selfish! I must be the worst sister that ever lived. These thoughts made me cry harder.

My mother didn't interrupt me. She ran her fingers through my hair, just like when I was a little girl and waited for my tears to recede.

"Megan, you don't have to feel bad because a boy asked you out."

I averted my eyes, ashamed. My mother had always had a knack for understanding me.

"I'll call him back… I can't. Not now…" I apologized.

"Nobody is judging you, Megan." My mother firmly said. "It's natural for you to want to go out and have fun at your age. I don't want you to stay hidden in your room. It's not healthy. You need to be with your friends, and, yes, flirt with boys.

– But…

– Your brother knows how much you love him."

Did he? I never had time or patience for Kevin. When was the last time I had told him I loved him? I should be able to remember…

"Going to that dance doesn't mean you don't love him, or aren't thinking about him.

– It feels… wrong." I said, resting my head on her chest. I could hear her steady heartbeat and it calmed me down.

"And that tells me how much you care. But caring doesn't mean shutting out the world."

I sniffed back my tears, not entirely convinced by my mother's argument.

"Of course, you don't _have_ to go if you don't want to, but I think you should at least think about it. It'll do you some good to go out. And that boy, he's special, isn't he?"

Yes, Joshua was special. I had been drawn by his good looks, but he was also… nice, as he had proven that day. Nice was good. Thinking back on what Joshua had said about his own brother, I tearfully added:

"I miss him mom. I miss him so much."

I didn't need to say Kevin's name. We all avoided saying his name for fear of… I wasn't sure what we feared. Bad news? My mother knew whom I meant. She always did.

"I know you do. We all do."

She held me close without saying anything else for a long time. I wished all of our problems could be solved by a mother's kisses and hugs.

"You know what we should do?" she then said. "We should go shopping for a new dress. We could make it a girls' day out, just the two of us. It's been a while. What do you say?"

A new dress? Like my friend, Jacky, had? I wasn't in the mood for shopping, and I wasn't sure I deserved a new dress, but it felt good to have my mother's attention. Even in the middle of this nightmare, she still found a way to make me feel special. I felt a flow of love for her and gave my mother a new hug.

"I love you, mom. You're the best."

Someone had to say it. Remind her she really was the best.

"Do you want to go downstairs and have a bowl of ice cream?"

I smiled weakly. Ice cream sounded nice.

I wished I could've told my mother about all my other worries, including the furnace, but I wasn't that selfish. Buzz would skin me alive if I bothered our mom with these pesky problems. I wasn't a child anymore. I could handle this.

I waited until the following morning to call the number Joshua had given me. This time, I made sure to have all the information about the furnace in hand, the brand, the model, year of installation, dimensions. I was ready. They _would_ take me seriously. I took a deep breath and dialed the number. It rang a few times before a man answered.

"Oh-Kay plumbing and heating, your flood control expert. How may I help you?

– Yes, hello. We have a problem with our gravity furnace. It needs to be replaced. As soon as possible." I said with the most grown-up voice I could muster. "Can you help us?

– Little lady, you called the right number." cheerfully answered the man.

I liked the sound of his voice; it was young and easy-going. He sounded nicer that the other men I had spoken with until that point. I felt myself relax. We would work this out. One problem at the time.

 _AN:_

 _Well, you all knew the handy men would of course be our wet bandits, but I thought it would be an interesting twist for Joshua to give their number to Megan in the first place._

 _His description of how major contractors work reflects the experience I have had (including how condescending they can be with women) and how smaller companies and self-employed workers are more client service oriented._

 _I know the upstairs office and solarium are not seen in the original movie, but as they are on the blueprints of the house, I decided to use them._


	7. Set an Example

_Hello dear readers!_

 _To_ Cukitalinda10 _, if I understand your question correctly, you are wondering whether Sid will produce the body of a child in spring that might be passed off as Kevin. The answer is no, he won't._

 _Sid made this comment to his colleague before he found out Harry and Marv were involved in Kevin's disappearance. That was just his cynicism talking. He truly thought Kevin would have been killed by his kidnappers at that point._

 _Just to be clear, neither Sid nor Charlie will ever kill a child just to try and make people believe Kevin is dead. Forensic science, even back in the 1990s, would've quickly revealed the truth. Sid, being a cop, would know this and therefore not waste his time and energy on such a pointless plan._

 _Enjoy the chapter!_

Set an Example

 _May 6, 1991_

"This is it! The big night!" my friend Hugo proclaimed as he slid on a chair next to me. "Who's in for a friendly wager?

– Nah, I'll pass." quickly responded Max, perusing his latest issue of Screamer.

"Sounds to me like somebody's broke. Again." David smirked, munching on some chips.

Max mumbled something and hid behind his magazine.

"You're broke?" Hugo frowned. "How come? Don't tell me you bought playoff tickets and didn't tell us!

– Playoff tickets?" snickered David. "No way, more like trying to impress his latest crush."

From behind his magazine, Max gave David the middle finger, a very subdued answer considering his extensive repertoire of curses. Far from being insulted, David's smile widened.

"So, she ditched you, huh?

– She did not, shut up!" Max hissed back, revealing how close to home David had hit.

Sensing the argument about to erupt, Hugo decided to steer the conversation toward a safer subject:

"So Buzz. Do you think the Bulls are going to win tonight?"

There was silence. David and Max suspended their argument, waiting for me to speak. I tried to sum up the energy to care, I really did, but all I could manage was an indifferent shrug. That shrug summed up my attitude to everything lately. My friends exchanged glances they probably thought were subtle, before resuming their discussion, this time strictly focused on the Bulls. No more arguing. Had I been in a better mood, I might've been thankful for the distraction.

Not so long ago, I would've had an opinion on both the upcoming playoff match between the Chicago Bulls and the Philadelphia 76ers, and Max's mysterious girl. I would've reviewed the roster of players with my friends, analysing the latest stats, injuries, strengths and weaknesses of both teams, and would've found a way to wiggle a name out of Max, but the truth was that I didn't care.

I looked around the agora where we were sitting. It was busy, as it always was around this time, with students talking, laughing, listening to music. They didn't have a care in the world. What was I doing here? Returning to school had not been my idea. Everybody claimed that what my siblings and I needed was to return to our normal life. What a joke. As if school was a remedy for what ailed our family. School was… meaningless. It was such a waste of time when I could be out there, doing what everybody ought to be doing: looking for Kevin.

My brother had not mysteriously vanished; someone had broken into our house and taken him! Which meant that, somewhere out there, somebody knew something. And yet, everybody insisted we returned to our everyday lives. How were we supposed to do that? What good was that going to accomplish? Who would it help? Certainly not Kevin.

"Looking for Kevin is not your responsibility." my grandmother had lectured me already. "Let the authorities handle it."

I would've laughed in her face, had I not lost my sense of humour. The authorities' response my grandmother counted on had not improved over time, even after the FBI's involvement. Their lack of results did not inspire confidence. They were all talk and no act! As far as I could tell, the cops and detectives seemed more concerned with appearing to do something, then doing anything.

My mother had some faith in the latest detective that had been assigned to Kevin's case, but I didn't. How was _he_ any different from all the others? What action had _he_ taken? What leads was _he_ following? Every time Detective Kinkaid stopped by the house to go over the same details for the millionth time, I had to leave the room for fear of saying something I might regret.

Someone had to do something.

Someone had to find Kevin.

Most importantly, someone had to _pay_.

I wanted every cop in town fired for their incompetence. I wanted journalists to throw themselves off a cliff. I wanted to see the creeps that had taken my brother behind bars, broken, bloody, _dead_! I wanted…

Damn, I just wanted Kevin back.

No one said it; not my parents, relatives, detectives or friends, but getting Kevin back looked less plausible with each passing day. Whenever that possibility crossed my mind, I had to take deep breaths and fight off the panic attack I could feel coming. I couldn't break down. My parents counted on me. My siblings looked up to me. And so I played the good boy, the good son, the good brother and go to class every day. Pretending to listen, study and learn.

School was not all bad, I mean, being with our friends did help, even if some of them did not know how to act around us. I had made it easy for mine by telling them I didn't want to talk about my brother. I think they preferred it that way.

Being back in class was also better than staying home, staring at the walls all day, waiting for news that never came. Jeff and Linnie were still pretty shaken by everything that was happening; with our life at home thrown out of balance, I could not blame them for finding comfort in school. I don't think Megan cared for school much, but she was better than I was at pretending otherwise. Not unlike myself, my sister saw the need to set an example. So, to keep my parents from worrying, to keep my siblings' fears at bay, I had to pretend everything would be fine.

Especially when I knew it wouldn't.

After nearly five months, nothing had been done, no arrest had been made, no suspect in custody, nothing! The only ones the cops kept harassing were my parents. Their questions were so frustrating! It was as if… As if my parents were behind it all! As if they had asked for Kevin to disappear, or something. Who would be dumb or mean enough to-

"Oh please, they were never robbed! It was just an excuse to get rid of the kid."

Even in the middle of the agora, over all that noise, the sound carried across the room. I froze on the spot, the laughter and chatter of my own friends fading in the background. I knew that voice. It belonged to a girl, and not any girl: Amanda Williams. I turned around to stare at her, my eyes blazing with fury.

Long wavy reddish brown hair, dark eyes, full lips, and a body with all the right curves, Amanda Williams was the first girl I had ever thought of as sexy. All the guys were drooling over her, myself included, and she was well aware of her effect on the opposite sex. I had overheard other girls accusing Amanda of being a superficial and mean, but I had never paid them any mind; it had sounded like petty jealousy to me. Amanda had attitude, but I would not have branded her a bitch… until that moment. It was as if I was seeing her for the first time. And I didn't like what I saw.

Amanda had her back turned to me and was holding court, quite literally, over her girlfriends, sitting on a nearby table.

"Mandy, that's horrible!" one of her friend intervened.

The girl looked shocked, others uncomfortable, but Amanda's closest friends snickered. Amanda herself did not take her eyes off her hand mirror as she applied lipstick to her perfect lips.

"Is it? Is it really? That woman popped five kids in less than a decade. You wanna know what I call that? A litter! I mean, it's called contraception people, look it up!" she giggled, closing her hand mirror with a snap.

No girl's laugh had ever sounded so ugly. By that point, I was seething with rage, and could no longer hear a word my friends were saying.

"If you ask me, this entire story is a bad rehash of Hansel and Gretel."

Amanda tossed her hair back and crossed her legs. I could hear the laugher in her voice as she continued:

"Instead of losing the kid in the woods, they strangled him. Blame it on some thieves and ta-dah! I know I would've done the same!"

I don't remember standing up, or walking over to Amanda and her posse. Silence fell on her friends as they saw me approaching. Some girls took a step back, while others hugged their books to their chest, but I only had eyes for Amanda.

Noticing the look on her friends' face, Amanda must've realized something was wrong. She turned around to investigate and found me. Amanda looked mildly surprised at seeing me standing there, but not embarrassed in the least. She batted her eyelashes before giving me a smile that, a few months ago, might've made my heart skip a beat.

"Oh, hey Buzz."

It was her smile that did it.

That _cocky_ bitch of a smile.

My fist connected with her face without warning. Now, I've never hit a girl in my life, and I know it's technically wrong, but I won't lie, it was not without satisfaction that I felt something crunch under my fist.

Amanda crashed to the floor, blood gushing from her nose and running down her blouse. Her girlfriends shrieked in terror and ran to her side. Amanda didn't scream, she looked too stunned to react.

She took her hand to her crooked nose, mouth agape, eyes bulging before looking up at me, terrified, as she rightly should be! I don't know what kept me from beating her to a bloody pulp.

"Dude! What did you do!" David gasped at my shoulder. "You punched Amanda!"

I almost rolled my eyes at hearing him state the obvious.

"You are in so much trouble!"

Trouble? That was an understatement. Yet I did not run. I did not hide. I was no coward. I did not wait for the teachers to take the matter in their own hands and marched myself to the principal's office to await my punishment. David and Hugo were too shocked to talk me out of it and Max, I noticed, was staring at me, looking green around the gills, for some reason.

As I later sat in the principal's office, I had no regret. I knew what was coming. Our school had a strict zero violence policy and I was facing expulsion. I didn't care. I refused to care. It had been worth it. Or so I kept telling myself.

I just wished they had not called my father.

"James's actions are inexcusable, and he will be punished for this." I listened as my father apologized over and over to the principal.

"She deserved it, Dad." I muttered.

Talk about a stupid thing to say, but I couldn't help myself. People like Amanda, people who slandered my family, deserved everything they got, and worse. Thinking about it filled me with rage.

"James, that's enough."

The use of my given name, told me how much my father was angry. His calm, but clear disappointed was worse than if he had yelled at me, or spoken of punishment. I felt the anger slowly drain from my mind and I sat back in my chair. The principal pursed her lips, looking at me with concern.

"Mr. McCallister, may I have a word?" she finally said.

I could take a hint and left the office. I threw my bag on a chair in the hall and fell in another, waiting for the final verdict. I ignored the glances and whispers of others students as they walked by.

I don't know how long I sat there. The minutes stretched on and on, but no sign of my father. My foot tapped the floor impatiently. I knew I was expelled, so what was the big hold up? It's not that I relished the idea of being expelled; I would miss my friends, I would miss training with the basketball and baseball team, and I would have to put a cross on trying out for the football team next year, but what was done was done. No point moping about it.

I squirmed internally as I imagined the upcoming evening and dinner. I didn't want to think about what my mother would say when she would hear about my expulsion. I also suddenly worried about what it would mean for Megan. She would be attending New Trier as a freshman next year, and I hoped my action would not reflect on her. As I had seen that day, girls could be cruel.

By the time my father exited the principals' office, the last class of the day was nearly over. I was anxious to leave the campus and avoid the after class rush.

"Come on, Buzz. We're leaving."

I was relieved to hear my father was back to using my nickname, but I had not expected us to leave yet. I thought I would first have to empty my locker.

"So, I'm expelled?" I asked, rising from my seat.

"No, you are not expelled. You're suspended. For two weeks."

Suspended? How could I have gotten away so lightly? It _was_ my first fight, but… And then it all made sense.

"They're going easy on me because of what's happening with Kevin, aren't they?"

I didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, I was glad not to be expelled, though I would never admit it, but on the other, using Kevin's disappearance as an excuse felt wrong. It made light of his kidnapping and I couldn't accept that.

"We'll talk in the car."

Home was no more than a five minutes' drive away, that didn't leave room for any real conversation. I didn't mind, I didn't want to talk. My father, I noticed, didn't take the familiar road back home.

"What about Linnie and Jeff?" I reminded him, seeing how late it was.

"I called your grandmother before leaving work." my father explained. "She'll pick them up after school."

At least he had not forgotten. It looked like we would be having that conversation neither of us wanted to have. I waited for my father to say something, but perhaps he shared my feelings, as he appeared in no hurry to break the silence. We had driven through the village and past our neighborhood when my father finally asked:

"So, you want to tell me what happened?"

At least my father was willing to listen to my side of the story before passing judgement. Unfortunately, there wasn't much I could say to defend my action.

"You know what happened. I punched a girl.

– That doesn't sound like you, Buzz. Why would you do that?"

I crossed my arms. I didn't want to go into details with my father. It had nothing to do with shame; my father didn't need to know what Amanda had said.

"Cause she's a bitch.

– You know I don't like that language, Buzz."

My father's voice lacked authority and I didn't bother answering. When I didn't say anything else, he pressed:

"So, what? You asked her out and she said no?

– No!" I snapped back.

What was my father thinking? I wouldn't hit a girl for that! This time, my father did not insist, giving me a short reprieve before dropping a bombshell:

"Coach Van Mersbergen called me last week."

As soon as my father mentioned my basketball coach, I knew what this was about and became defensive.

"I told him not to do that." I grumbled without hidden the resentment in my voice.

If you couldn't trust your coach, whom could you trust?

"You elbowed one of your playmates to the _neck_ during practice.

– That was an accident!" I stressed, remembering how Nate Miller had to be carried out of the basketball court.

I had not realized I had elbowed anyone. It certainly had not been planned. I had jumped to throw the ball, and it just… happened. I barely remembered my elbow meeting something soft as I came down, and I didn't think of it. Then the coach's whistle had rung in our ears, interrupting the game. I remembered my playmates looking at something on the ground and our coach rushing over. I had followed their gazes and felt sick when I saw Nate lying at my feet, not moving, not getting up.

"The coach said I threw my elbow out to regain my balance. It was an accident." I repeated.

It didn't make me feel better. I had been told that Nate would be out of the game for the rest of the season.

"Accidents happen, Buzz." my father stated. "It's all part of the game, and I'm not blaming you. What I don't understand is why you didn't tell us about it."

I gazed out the window, looking at stores, cars and bystanders rushing home in time for dinner.

"You know why, Dad." I said without looking his way. "You've got enough stuff to worry about. It was just an accident."

It was my father's turn to be silent. The last thing I expected him to say was:

"We haven't talked about… everything that's happening right now."

No, my parents did not discuss Kevin's abduction with us. I did not hold it against them. How could I? I saw how afraid they both were. I turned to face my father and witnessed firsthand how difficult his next words were:

"Not talking… maybe that's part of the problem."

He still wouldn't say it, I noted. Even when trying to discuss it with me, and I knew he was trying his hardest here, my father would not use the words "kidnapping", or "abduction".

"I know you've taken your brother's disappearance very hard. We all do. But there's a lot of anger in you, Buzz."

I meant to protest, but my father wouldn't let me:

"I can see it, your coach and teachers can sense it, and it worries me."

I didn't want to hear it. It wasn't true. It wasn't me. How could I have let this happen; in my anger, I had become what I had tried so hard to avoid: a burden, an _embarrassment_ to my parents.

"Sorry." I muttered.

"Buzz, you don't have to apologize for your feelings. We all cope with pain in different ways. And your mother and I… we haven't been paying enough attention to you guys.

– You're worried about Kevin. I get it, Dad."

My father smiled briefly as he kept driving. It was a sad smile, the smile of a man that was beaten up. It didn't look like my father at all.

"That's no excuse. You shouldn't have to deal with… all this. It's a lot to shoulder. Your mother and I have tried to shield you-

– You don't have to do that, Dad. I'm not a kid. I can deal.

– I know you can, but I wish you wouldn't have to."

My father's tone pained me. I would've done anything to lift his sorrow. That's all I wanted.

"I want to help.

– You _are_ helping, Buzz; sharing your bedroom with Jeff, walking him and Linnie to school every day, taking care of Chester, and painting your grandmother new apartment. You've helped us more than you know."

That's not what I meant. I wanted to help find Kevin. I didn't know how, I had no idea where to look, but he was my brother, I had to do something! The first couple of weeks following Kevin's disappearance, after the volunteers had gone back home, after the investigation had become stagnant, I had gone out at night. I went out and I walked around our neighborhood. No matter how cold it got, how hard it snowed, I had gone out for hours.

I didn't know what I was doing until Jeff called me out on it one night. It was late, but luckily for me, my parents had not noticed my absence. I had tiptoed my way back to my bedroom where I had expected to find Jeff fast asleep. I should've known better, I don't think Jeff can fall asleep unless I'm there.

"You're not going to find him, you know." he said as I undressed in the dark.

"What are you talking about?" I replied, avoiding the statement.

"Kevin is not lost." Jeff said, his back turned to me. "You're not going to find him by walking around."

Jeff, my little brother, had seen right through me. I _had_ been looking for Kevin. I had gone to bed without answering Jeff. I didn't want to admit it to myself, but I knew he had been right; I wouldn't stumble upon Kevin. It didn't keep me from going out for many more nights.

I had my reasons, good reasons, for acting the way I did. I had never mentioned it to anyone, but one of my biggest fears was that Kevin might be right under our noses. For all we knew, his kidnappers could be anyone; What if we knew them? What if my brother was locked in a basement, an attic, or a shed a few houses away? We'd never know it! Such thoughts always left me feeling helpless and angrier than ever. And so I prowled the neighborhood, hoping to catch a glimpse of a small silhouette in an upstairs window, hear a muffled cry for help. _Something_.

I never saw or heard a thing.

Kevin really had vanished.

My parents had eventually put a stop to my midnight strolls, but it had not put my fears to rest. It had not killed my need to search for Kevin.

"Let me do more, Dad. I can help!

– You are doing plenty, Buzz. You're always around, and your mother and I are grateful." My father continued, most likely hoping to appease me.

Hearing my father say this made me look away again. I wanted to help, but that was not the reason I hung around the house. How could I tell my father we didn't feel safe in the house anymore? Megan wouldn't stay home alone to look after Linnie and Jeff, not even with Chester around, not that I could blame her, or would've left them alone. Our house, made of such solid brick walls, had failed to protect our family. To protect Kevin. So I stayed close. Just in case.

I couldn't share our fears with my father. What could he do about it? Sell the house? In the midst of all this? How could I trouble him with this? Who would buy our house, anyway? I could already imagine scandal hungry people touring the house to feed their morbid fascination. Never!

There was also a small hope in my heart that Kevin might try to find his way back home. If he ever did, we needed to be there. I scowled so as not to betray how much those thoughts pained me.

"Is this the part where you tell me you're not angry, just disappointed?

– No one is angry or disappointed, Buzz.

– I should've been expelled.

– Your principal thought that expelling you might not be the best solution.

– So they _are_ letting me off easy because of Kevin." I said, nonplussed.

"No one is letting you off, Buzz. What you did today was wrong, and you'll have to face the consequences of your actions."

Consequences, yeah right! Two weeks of suspension was a laughable punishment. So what if I stayed home for two more weeks? As if reading my mind, my father said:

"Don't think you'll be on holidays. You will study and catch up with your homework and school projects. And no television!

– No TV, sure." I agreed with indifference.

"There's something else."

I looked at my father, intrigued. He cleared his throat, clearly nervous, before saying:

"Your principal also reminded me that your school offers services for students in… crisis. There are people you could talk to; they could help you, support you.

–You mean one of the school psychologists?" I faintly groaned. "Dad… you're kidding, right? I don't need to see a shrink!"

Those were for whinny kids whose parents were getting divorced, who were being bullied, or on drugs, not me! Those kids were… _weak_! And I wasn't.

"I'll be discussing it with your mother, but I think it would be good for you to talk to someone. I'm sorry I didn't think about it sooner.

– I'm _not_ crazy!" I bellowed.

"You are not crazy, Buzz. You're in pain. You need help.

– I don't need help!" I raged, balling my fists. "I need the fucking cops to get off their asses, do their job and find Kevin!"

My eyes were suddenly watery. I had never cursed in front of any of my parents, and I expected a sharp rebuke. I would've welcomed some harsh words from my father; his unusual calm bordering on detachment disturbed me.

"Buzz, mind your language. I won't ask again." was his response.

I saw him take a deep breath, before continuing:

"Going to counselling is conditional to you reintegrating school. And I agreed it would be for the best, Buzz."

I glared furiously at the road ahead, refusing to look at my father any longer.

"You won't have to go alone." I heard him say with some hesitation. "Your mother and I will be there, unless you don't want us to."

How could my father expect me to do this? If people heard that I was seeing a shrink… I would be branded a wimp for the rest of my high school years! I was racking my brain, trying to come up with an excuse not to go, when my father added:

"You'll also have to write a letter of apology to the girl."

A new wave of anger coursed through me.

"No way I'll ever apologize!" I hissed, baring my teeth. "You don't know what she said, Dad!

– Sticks and stones, Buzz. You can't attack someone because they insulted you."

I scuffed loudly. Had Amanda insulted _me_ , I might've been humiliated, but I would've walked away. She wasn't important enough for me to care.

" _I_ 'm not the one she insulted, Dad."

My father took his eyes off the road to look at me, and I held his gaze until he turned away. I didn't need to explain myself; I think my father had guessed what had spurred my anger.

"Look, forget about the girl, you can't let your anger set you off! You know that's not an acceptable behaviour. You just started high school; is that the reputation you want to carry around for the next couple of years?"

I was still angry, but my father's words did not fall on deaf ears; I could do without the reputation of a guy who bashed on girls.

"I didn't do it on purpose." I admitted, calming down. "She was there with her friends. Laughing. As if Kevin was some kind of joke.

– She shouldn't have done that." my father answered, frowning to himself.

I saw him grip the steering wheel and stare darkly at the road ahead.

"Buzz, I know it's probably too late, but I don't want all this to… define your future. You're not a violent guy."

No, I wasn't. I liked violence as much as anyone, in movies or on the football field, but I did not consider myself a violent person.

"It won't happen again, Dad, I promise. I don't need to see a psychologist."

The last thing I wanted was to disappoint him again. Besides, I doubted anyone would dare mock my family within earshot after today.

"We've all been through a lot. And your mother and I… we know we're not there for you as we should be. It's wrong, we know it, and we are sorry."

If my father had hoped to comfort me by confessing this, he was sorely mistaken. Hearing him apologize when I knew how much time he spent over the phone, making interviews, talking with detectives, trying to find Kevin, made me feel like a total jerk. My parents could barely sleep or eat. All I had to do was go to school and stay out of trouble, and I couldn't even do that!

"It's okay, Dad. I get it. I really do.

– No, it's not okay, Buzz. Your mother and I are sorry we didn't celebrate your birthday this year. That's not what we had in mind for your sixteenth anniversary."

My birthday was in the second week of January. Before the Christmas holidays, my parents had planned to throw this huge weekend long party with all my friends. Needless to say that party never happened.

"I don't care about that."

And I wasn't saying that to spare my father's feelings, I _really_ did not care. No one was in the mood for a party, myself included. My grandmother had made my favorite sweet and sour ribs and her triple chocolate cake. That had been enough for me, but not my father as he stated:

"No, it was wrong. It's not fair. To you, or your siblings."

Megan's birthday in early February had equally passed without fanfare. She didn't have her annual sleepover with her girlfriends. Instead, we had rented movies and had her traditional black forest cake.

My parents' birthdays, both in March, had been hell. My mother had spent the day locked in her bedroom, crying, and my father had ignored his altogether. Megan and I had bought them cards, and gifts, that had felt terribly inadequate. We had not known how or when to offer them to our parents. In the end, our grandmother had settled the matter by taking the cards, assuring us our parents would appreciate them later. Once Kevin was found.

We were in May and I didn't want to think about the upcoming Mother's Day. God, it would kill my mom. It suddenly seemed all the holidays on the calendar had been designed to hurt our family in one way or another. Hopefully we would skip Mothers' Day this year, but what of next year? Or the one after that? And all the other holidays?

Linnie's birthday later in May would be next. She would turn thirteen and become a proper teenager. This milestone had been highlighted for both Megan and I by our parents. They had hosted a dinner party, not the usual party, but the kind of dinner our parent would throw for their business partners or charity events.

The entire family had been invited, along with neighbors and friends, and everyone had got dressed up. My parents had hired caterers and waiters for the entire evening. There had been gifts, of course, but our parent's real gift had come later. In private, they had offered each of us letters they had written on the day we were born.

Linnie deserved a day just as special. We owned it to her. It would hurt Linnie's feelings if her birthday were forgotten after witnessing our own thirteenth birthday celebrations. I preferred not to bring it up with my father, but I made a mental note of discussing it with Megan. We'd figure something.

I was drawn back in the conversation by my father announcing:

"I had been meaning to tell you, I promised you driving lessons for your sixteenth birthday, and you're going to sign up for them."

I was speechless. There was a time, not so long ago, when I talked of little else. Driving lessons had meant independence, freedom! I couldn't wait for my birthday, and now, like the rest, it had lost its appeal.

"Really, Dad, it's not important." I tried to wave it off.

"Yes it is. A promise is a promise. You're old enough. You should learn how to drive. We can't wait until-"

My father did not finish his sentence, and looked chocked up.

"Learning how to drive is important for a sixteen-year-old." He regained his composure. "I don't want you to miss out on things."

Miss out on things? I had only been sixteen for a few months. There was plenty of time for me to learn how to drive. The way my father spoke, it almost sounded as if he didn't think Kevin would be found. He had not spoken the words, but his admittance of his own uncertainty was unsettling. But Kevin would come back I wanted to shout.

I had to keep believing that.

I didn't want to acknowledge my father's doubts, for fear to them becoming my own.

"So… Let me get this straight; I punch a girl and I get driving lessons?" I pointed out instead, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure that's the kind of lesson you want me to remember?

– This is serious Buzz. I have to know I can trust you. A car is not a toy. That's why you are going to counselling. When you'll have your anger under control, we'll talk about those lessons. I wanted you to know I had not forgotten."

I thought about it for a while. Driving lessons would be useful. None of my friends had their permit yet. I would be able to help my parents more by running errands, or driving my siblings around. It would also mean that I would be able to search for Kevin much further. I didn't mention that part to my father.

As for my anger, well, don't we all go a little mad sometimes? Nobody's perfect. I was willing to admit that hitting Amanda had gone too far, but therapy? Talking to a stranger? But driving lessons sure sounded interesting.

"I'll think about it, Dad." I conceded, knowing it was the best way to end this discussion.

"Good. That's good." My father said, nodding to himself.

"Hey Dad?

– Hum?

"Do you think…?

Do you think we'll find Kevin? Do you think he's alive? Do you think he's okay? I _needed_ to hear him say that everything would be all right, but I knew better.

"Never mind."

Taking a cue from my father, I buried my doubts, looked at the road straight ahead and didn't say anything else. As long as we didn't talk about it, there was still hope.

 _I_ could still hope.

AN:

 _It was only as I wrote this chapter that I realised for the first time that I needed to come up with Buzz's given name. Obviously, Peter would not have referred to his son the nickname "Buzz" in front of the principal. I hesitated between James, Brian, or Brandon, but settled on James._

 _Next chapter, the wet bandits turn up to fix the furnace!_


	8. Devils come knocking

_Hello everybody!_

 _This chapter was a lot longer than I anticipated! I didn't even get to write everything I had planned! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it!_

 _Loco14, to answer your question, yes Kevin's message will be found. To give you an idea, it should be found some time after Kevin turns ten years-old. As for the pictures, yes, those will come back as well, but all in due time!_

 _As for the future points of view for this series, I believe I'll write another one from Kate's point of view, followed by Linnie, Jeff, Linnie again and Peter._

Devils come knocking

 _May 13, 1991_

I opened my eyes, and for a few blissful seconds, I didn't remember a thing. This was a day like any other, and I was a normal woman waking up in the arms of her husband after a night of lovemaking.

And then my memory caught up with me and my nightmare began anew.

The pain was no longer as raw as it used to be. The medication took care of that. It couldn't help with the rest, the fear, the guilt, the helplessness, and most of all, the emptiness. No amount of medication could fill the gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

Next to me, I felt Peter stir before opening his eyes as well. We looked at each other in the semidarkness of our bedroom. I saw my own torment reflected in his eyes, as it did every morning.

Not a word is spoken.

Night and day, terrible things kept going through our minds. Horrible things. Unspeakable things. We never voiced our fears, not even in our most intimate moments. We kept these thoughts to ourselves, not because we were ashamed, weak, or for fear of breaking down, we were past that, we remained silent because there was no one to tell us these fears were just the ramblings of our overactive imagination. No one to tell us they were not justified.

Because they were.

Kevin, our little boy, was missing. Someone had stolen him from us. Why would anyone do something like this? Who could be so cruel? We didn't know. We might never know. It was every parent's worst nightmare, and our reality. With no hope on the horizon, I didn't know how much more of this we could take.

Peter and I did not move. We were still lying in each other arms, the position in which we had fallen asleep. We had not slept in each other arms in years, not since our college days. Those carefree days were long gone, as were our playfulness, laughter and exuberant lovemaking.

Last night had been the first time Peter and I had made love in months, the longest we had ever gone without sex since we've known each other. It had not been sparked by lust or, heaven forbid, a misplaced sense of duty, but by our shared despair. We had clung to each other with the same hunger and found solace the way we could, however briefly.

This night had been a small reprieve.

Peter held me close until we heard footsteps down the hall, doors closing and voices. Chester left his basket and came to nuzzle me from the side of the bed.

Time to rise and to pick up the fight once again. Every day we fought, we had to fight. How else could we hope to hold our family together, and bring Kevin home? Peter and I were born fighters. We wouldn't give up. We would _never_ give up. But we were only human. And we were tired.

Peter and I exchanged a kiss before rising. I walked to the window, while my husband put on his bathrobe and went downstairs to take care of Chester. What would I ever do without Peter? These past months had been hell, and having him by my side gave me the strength to rise every morning.

I opened the curtains and window. It was still early, the sky was clouded and the air muggy. It looked about to rain. I stood there, looking out the horizon. Every day, the sight baffled me. How the world could go on turning, how the sun could rise on another day when everything was so horribly wrong in my world.

I didn't know how to live in this world anymore, and yet I did. I had to.

My hands were trembling as I made the bed. They were always trembling. I clenched my fists, sighing. I went in the bathroom and reached for my morning prescription. I looked at the array of bottles lining the pharmacy with distaste. And to think that, not long ago, one or two Advil pills was the only medication I needed.

I carried my morning ritual, shower, hair and make-up, as I did every day. I knew the routine so well I could've followed it with my eyes closed. It proved useful when I didn't want to look at myself too closely in the mirror. No matter how long I slept, I always looked so tired. After applying the foundation of my make-up, I returned to my bedroom to select my clothes for the day.

I loved clothes. They were more than my bread and butter. The fabrics, the colours, the patterns, the styles, the accessories; so many choices, so many possibilities. There was something about putting together my outfit for the day that always gave me confidence. I could do with a boost of confidence these days.

I went through my wardrobe, weighing my options with the same care I would have, had I gone in the office. I had not been in the office in person in weeks. One of my assistants delivered files, sketches, fabric samples, and contracts for me to review every evening. I took conference calls from home, analysed the fashion trends from designers in New York, Milan, Paris, and London and planned our next winter collection.

I did not leave the house if I could help it.

I dressed professionally nonetheless. I had always promised myself I would not become one of those women who spent their days in pyjamas, hair in disarray. I was Kate McCallister, and I had my pride.

I ended up choosing one of my favorite Dior raspberry houndstooth jacket. It would look lovely over one of my black shell tops and a pair of comfortable black front pleated trousers. Accessories were next. It would've been a crime to draw attention away from the jacket with some flashy jewellery and I opted for a plain double strand gold chain necklace with matching earrings. I put on my shoes, ran a hand down my pants to smooth them and adjusted my wedding rings.

I was ready to face the day.

In the hall, I came across Linnie just as she walked out of her bedroom. She looked half-asleep and was still in her dressing gown.

"Good morning, sweetie.

– Hey Mom." she stiffened a yawn. "Have you seen my red leggings?

– They should be in your second drawer, honey.

– I already looked, and they're not there!" she pouted.

"They're in the wash." Megan mentioned as she exited the bathroom, already dressed for the day. "Morning, Mom."

Today, Megan was wearing a loose black dress with a discreet floral pattern over a white top that brought out the flowers on her dress. A denim vest completed her casual-chic look. I noted the assortment of rings on the fingers, and the tasteful eye shadow she had recently adopted. I smiled approvingly at my eldest daughter. She had my eye for style this one. Linnie might be the beauty of the family, but I knew Megan would the one the boys chased.

Linnie disappeared in the bathroom and Megan made her way downstairs. I was about to follow her when I walked past the boys' room. Or maybe I should say Kevin's room now that Jeff had moved down the hall with Buzz. I avoided going in that room, I knew what it did to me, but I felt drawn to it. The bedroom door was open. I made sure it was always open. Closing it would've been admitting Kevin was not coming back.

Defeat was not an option.

I stood in the doorway without moving. The room was undisturbed. Toys, Kevin's toys, littered the floor and the desk. Dust had settled on the furniture. How many times had I done this? Perhaps if I closed my eyes and imagined Kevin asleep in his bed hard enough, I would one day find him there. Back home, safe where he belonged.

"Mom?"

I jumped at the sound of Buzz's voice. I had not heard him come up; he must have used the kitchen stairs.

"Dad said the coffee's ready."

Unlike me, Buzz did not look at Kevin's bedroom. Was it concern or pity I read in his eyes? I straightened myself up. My son should not have to worry about me.

"Thank you, Buzz. Is Jeff up, yet?

– No, I'll go wake him."

I watched Buzz walk back to his bedroom to take care of his brother. I know I should've been stricter with him, given his recent suspension, but I didn't have the heart to be too hard on him. Buzz was such a good boy! Though I suppose he wasn't a boy anymore.

I went downstairs, remembering how jarring it had been to learn that Buzz had been suspended, and for hitting a girl, no less! I couldn't believe my ears. I still couldn't believe it. Buzz wouldn't hurt a fly! I could not explain how this had happened. My mother's instinct blamed the girl. Surely, my son had been provoked! This had to be some act of self-defence, and Buzz, being tall for his age, had been held responsible. The principal, Denise Dubravec was a down-to-earth woman; she would not lay accusations or unfair punishment on her students. Overall, I supposed she had been understanding and had made a sensible judgement call, but that didn't mean I liked it.

Entering the kitchen, I saw three lunch boxes on the counter. Three, not five. Buzz didn't need a lunch and Kevin… I did not finish that thought; I would never get used to it.

Megan was cutting carrots and washing grapes, while her father carved pieces of meat for sandwiches. Roasted beef my mother had prepared the previous evening. Peter welcomed me with a cup of coffee. Black with cream, the way I liked it.

"Go get dressed; you can't be late for your meeting." I told him, taking his place at the counter.

While I avoided leaving home whenever possible, Peter needed to keep busy. I didn't mind. He needed to dive into work to keep functioning. Peter was a kind man, but I knew he was a business shark at heart, and I would not have had it any other way. I needed him to remember who he was and stay sharp. It gave him the energy to keep on fighting.

I spread yellow mustard on Jeff's sandwich, Dijon mustard on Linnie's sandwich and spicy horseradish mayo on Megan's. I avoided looking at the family calendar on the wall. My eyes would always lend on a note marking the twenty-eighth and reading «Dr. Lee, two o'clock». Our first therapy session with Buzz. I wasn't sure what to expect, or hoped from this appointment. If I had to be honest with myself, I resented the idea of therapy as much as Buzz. One of my children was missing, another needed therapy… what kind of mother was I?

"Mom, no lettuce in Jeff's sandwich, remember?" Megan interrupted my train of thoughts.

"Oh, right, thanks, honey."

I guiltily removed the piece of lettuce before cutting the crust off his sandwich. I then gathered yogurt, granola bars, juice boxes, and the bags of veggies Megan had prepared for everyone. Jeff joined us in the kitchen shortly afterwards.

"Mom, are we out of orange juice?" he asked, inspecting the content of the refrigerator.

"It's on the grocery list, Jeff." Megan told him.

"I'll run to the grocery store this afternoon." I promised.

I had said the same thing yesterday morning, but this time, I meant it. I _would_ go, as soon as I saw the children off to school. I was busy scanning the front-page news when Linnie entered the kitchen, hairbrush in hand.

"Mom, can you help me braid my hair?"

Before I could answer, the doorbell rang, stopping me dead in my tracks. Chester jumped to his feet, barking and heading straight to the front door. I looked at my watch with dread. It was barely seven thirty. Who could be calling so early on a Monday morning? I was wary of unexpected callers; they made me fear the worse.

"Do you want me to get that, Mom?" Megan suggested.

"No, I'll answer the door. Can you help your sister with her hair?"

I did not hear Megan's answer as I walked to the front door, my heart pounding. Chester had beaten me to the door and was barking loudly.

"Sit, Chester!"

I paused a second to collect my thoughts. What if this was it? The day I would have my little boy back? What if whoever was standing on the other side of that door had the power to make my world right again? Or shatter it forever? I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Two men stood on my doorstep. To my relief, neither man was wearing anything coming close to a uniform or badge. Not police officers, then. Was it possible to be crushed and relieved at the same time?

"Good morning." I greeted them, while firmly keeping Chester behind me.

Judging by their clothes, I could tell these men were not from our neighborhood. They both wore bland windbreakers with pants and boots that, although clean, had a distinctive shabby look. These were clearly blue-collar workers. My initial impression was confirmed by the van mounted with ladders and other equipment I saw parked in front of the house and the toolboxes they were carrying. Maybe one of our neighbors was having some work done and the men needed access to our backyard.

"Mrs. McCallister?" The smaller of the two men asked, taking a step forward.

I detected the faint accent in his voice. New York? Or New Jersey? The other, much taller man, kept his distance. I saw him looking up and down the street every few seconds, as if he didn't want to be seen on our doorstep.

"Yes?" I cautiously answered. "May I help you?

– I'm Harry Lime. This is my partner; we have an appointment to look at your furnace."

I had no recollection of Peter mentioning anything about handy men stopping by, and did not invite the two men inside.

"We do?"

I saw the quick look that passed between the two men. The smaller one, Mr. Lime, shot daggers at his silent partner who fidgeted and looked nervous. I assumed Mr. Lime was the boss of their team as he addressed himself to me once more:

"Didn't you call regarding a problem with your furnace?"

A problem with our furnace? I might've suspected some reporters were behind this lazy attempt at entering our house, were it not for how embarrassed the men clearly were. Had someone pulled a prank on them?

"I believe you mentioned that Mrs. Reed had recommended our services?" Mr. Lime, volunteered sensing my hesitation.

I did not know any Mrs. Reed, and was about to tell the man so when Megan walked up to us.

"Oh, are you here for the furnace?

– Little lady!" the taller of the two men spoke for the first time.

He welcomed my daughter's intervention with obvious relief.

"We talked on the phone." he added with a strange enthusiasm.

His voice had a cheerful naiveté that made me realise he was younger than he appeared to be. His height might have been behind this false impression; upon closer inspection, I suspected the man had not reached his forties yet.

His smaller, but dominating partner heightened this impression. Glaring, at him, Mr. Lime elbowed his partner to the side, and the man fell silent. When Mr. Lime spoke, his expression was once again professional.

"So there _is_ a problem with your furnace?

– Yes." Megan confirmed, which was news to me. "Please, come in."

I covered my own surprise at this information and opened the door. While the men traded their boots for indoor shoes, I took my daughter to the side.

"Megan, is your father expecting them?"

Megan looked up the stairs, waiting for her father to appear.

"I reminded him last night..." she mumbled.

"And who recommended their services?

– Joshua's mom did. He said they were good."

I would not normally have hired anyone on the recommendation of a woman I had never met or spoken to, but I couldn't send these men away. They _had_ been called. And since it would appear there was a problem with our furnace, we might as well let them have a look.

"Could you tell your father the repairmen are here, I'll show them to the basement."

Megan went upstairs stairs as I remembered that Peter had a business meeting this morning. That wouldn't leave him much time to deal with the furnace.

"Euh, Mrs. McCallister, your dog…"

I turned my attention back to the men who were being inspected by Chester. I could tell neither man liked dogs; they both looked on their guards as Chester circled them, smelling their clothes and whining to himself.

"Nice doggie. You're a nice dog, right?" the taller of the two said, betraying his nervousness.

Chester had always been a good-natured animal. Much more of a family dog, than a guard dog; with so many children in the house, I had not wanted an aggressive animal that might've turned on them the moment they stepped on his tail or tugged on his ears. Chester would alert the house to the arrival of guests, greet strangers at the door, but would promptly go back to sleep afterwards. I was taken aback by the interest he showed in both men. One would think they had steaks hidden in their pockets! When Mr. Lime tried to push him away, Chester whined in protest and barked at him.

"Chester! Heel!" I ordered.

To my astonishment, Chester did not come to me. He raised his head, before barking again at the men.

"Sorry!" I said, pulling Chester away. "He doesn't bite, don't worry."

Chester whined again before barking loudly, startling both men.

"Chester, no!"

What had gotten into that dog! He wasn't growling at the men, or, thankfully, showing his teeth, but he did not seem to want to leave them alone.

"Don't worry; I'll put him in the backyard, he won't bother you.

– That's all right, Mrs. McCallister." Mr. Lime said. "I got a new kitten for Christmas; your dog probably picked up its scent."

I smiled weakly. That was probably it. Chester would chase cats out of the garden and down the street if we'd let him. Then again, I reflected, Frank and Leslie owned two cats, and Chester had never been that interested in them. How strange.

I had no idea how to interpret his behaviour and put the thought out of my mind. I led both men through the kitchen, while keeping a hand on Chester's collar.

"Jeff, do me a favour and take Chester outside."

My son, who was watching the two men quizzically, abandoned his bowl of cereal to grab Chester's collar. Our dog was determined to remain at the men's side, standing on his back legs, ears pricked forward at attention, barking.

"Chester! Knock it off!" a bewildered Jeff ordered as he dragged the dog outside.

"I'm so sorry about that." I apologized again. "He doesn't usually act this way around strangers. The furnace is right this way."

Mr. Lime followed me to the basement door, but his younger partner glanced at the dark staircase and seemed reluctant to follow us. For a second I could have sworn I saw… _fear_ in his eyes. I scoffed at the idea; grown men weren't afraid of basements! Noticing my staring, his boss called to the man:

"Marv, you coming?"

Mr. Lime's statement was light, yet laden with meaning.

"I'm right behind you." his partner replied, glaring back.

I followed the exchange, perplexed. Was I imagining things, or was there tension between the two?

"Please excuse my partner." Mr. Lime then explained. "He's had a few… bad experiences while working in basements."

I tried to look sympathetic; working in other people's houses must've been stressful, accidents happened.

"Well our basement is messy, but there's nothing dangerous down there." I tried to reassure the man.

"I'll watch my step." he mumbled, earning himself another glare from his boss.

I accompanied the men downstairs, careful to light our way as we went to qualm the man's anxiety. Our furnace was hard to miss will all its air ducts going in every which way, and I was glad to see the tall repair man put whatever fears he had to the side to appraise it. He set his toolbox down, whistling:

"We don't see those models often anymore. Looks good!

– Yeah, Marv, except for the fact it's not working." his boss remarked sarcastically. "When did you say it was installed?

– The girl said it was the original furnace, but that can't be right. Gravity furnaces were fueled by coal back in the twenties, and this one is running on oil.

– What's the serial number?"

I was reassured to hear the men knew what they were doing, and I was relieved when they did not ask me for details. Besides paying the monthly oil bill, I did not know much about the furnace.

"Mr. Lime, do you know how long this might take?

– We'll run a few routine checks to confirm what's wrong with your furnace. This shouldn't take too long, an hour at the most, and we'll let you know as soon as we're done."

I could recognize when I was being dismissed, but was not insulted; these men were the experts, they did not need supervision. I would be in the way if I stayed, and therefore went back upstairs and met Peter in the kitchen.

I felt a sense of pride as I saw him in his classic navy Armani suit with the silk stripped design tie I had picked out for him. God, I loved a man in a suit. I knew I should not, it was unfair of me really, but there was no denying how dashingly handsome my husband was, especially when compared to the repairmen.

"Are the furnace repair guys downstairs?" he asked, fighting with his tie. "I forgot they were coming this morning! Do you know if they'll be long?

– They said an hour or so." I confirmed, adjusting his tie for him.

"An hour?" Peter repeated.

My husband did not have an hour to waste. Not today. I had already decided I wouldn't let him cancel his meeting over the furnace. Peter had not risen to his position by shying away from his responsibilities. What did he did know about furnaces, anyway? Certainly no more than I did!

"You go, I'll take care of this.

– Are you sure?"

It was nice of him to ask. Had I hesitated, I knew he would've cancelled his meeting, but I could handle this. Peter, on the other hand, needed to secure new clients; his partners had to see he was still an asset to their firm. They had to see he had not grown soft, or lost his edge. There were too many young and ambitious men willing to prove themselves to advance their career. I wasn't about to let them get ahead on my husband's back.

"I'll be fine. My first conference call isn't until ten o'clock. I have time." I assured him as I poured coffee in his travel mug.

One milk and two spoonful of honey. Peter had a sweet tooth.

"Go, or you'll be late. I'll make sure they don't rob us blind." I said as I handed him his mug.

"I do not deserve you." he responded gratefully, kissing me.

My husband grabbed his briefcase and walked out the backdoor as I called to him:

"Oh, and leave Chester outside, he keeps annoying the repair guys."

And then I was alone in the kitchen. For a moment, I didn't know what to do with myself. I sat back at the table, scanning the front-page news without interest; I needed the distraction. I skipped the article on Mother's day, going straight to the one on trouble brewing in Bangladesh. I read and reread the article three times, but not a word would register. Try as I might, I could not concentrate. After a few more tries, I threw the newspaper to the side in disgust. I was used to mastering every aspect of my life and this loss of self-control was hard to accept.

"Mom?" I heard Buzz call from the hall. "It's almost eight, we're leaving!"

Was it time for school already? I had come to hate that moment, the moment where my children would leave the safety of the house, and be out of my reach. I nonetheless made myself smile as I walked to the front of the house. I didn't want to communicate my anxieties to the children; they were too young and had been through enough as it was.

Buzz was dressed and ready to leave. Linnie and Jeff were tying their shoes and putting their spring coats on. Megan was waiting by the door with Buzz. She would walk only part of the way with her siblings. It wasn't all the way, but I knew Megan usually caught up with her girlfriends. She would be safe.

I drew each of them in for a tight hug and kisses with my usual good wishes:

"Have a good day! Look at both side of the street before crossing, stay together, and listen to Buzz."

All of them, including Jeff who, not so long ago, claimed to be too old for his mother's kisses, submitted themselves to my affections without protest. I wish I didn't have to let go.

"Buzz you'll-

– I'll be careful, I know, Mom." he promised, as he did every morning. "I'll be back before you know it."

He did not roll his eyes, but I knew he thought I was smothering him. As ridiculous as the thought of anyone attacking my six-foot tall son was, it didn't keep me from worrying. No matter how old he got, I still thought of him as my little boy.

Hiding behind the curtains in the family room, I watched my children walk down the street. As a parent, you did your best to protect your children against the evils of the world; you taught them not to speak or follow strangers, to be careful, but it was never enough. As I looked at my four children, my thoughts turned to my fifth and missing child, Kevin.

How had it come to this?

I had always wanted a big family. It might've been a common wish for an only child, but I really meant it. As far as I can remember, I had dreamed of a big house filled with children. This is how I knew I had found my match when I first met Peter McCallister.

Whereas most of my boyfriends tended to clam up whenever I tried to discuss the future, Peter had not been afraid to say that he wanted a family and children on our first date. There was a man who knew what he wanted! His frankness had been… refreshing.

We were both so young; we got married as soon as we graduated university. Our parents had advised us to take our time, enjoy ourselves and travel, but we were stubborn. We wanted to start our family and career as soon as possible.

Buzz was born less than a year after our marriage. I was still working as a junior assistant for a designer, and everybody swore it would be the end of my career. Shows how much they knew! I always took great pride in the fact I had defied expectations and I had juggled both a successful career and motherhood.

Considering how career driven Peter was, I had worried that having children would not suit him. Many men liked the idea of having children as long as they didn't have to change diapers. My fears had proved unfounded. Peter had embraced fatherhood with unabashed joy. I remembered him showing off our firstborn to the family with such pride; a boy, as strong willed as his father was!

Coming from a big family himself, Peter had grown up with small children and babies; he probably knew more about them than I did! Not only did Peter know how to take care for children, but he enjoyed it! And a good thing he did, we had our work cut out for ourselves with our firstborn; Buzz had been a very demanding baby.

Peter had never complained, had always been happy to bathe Buzz, wake up in the middle of the night to feed him a bottle, or bounce our son around for hours until he fell asleep. I have no idea where we both had found the energy to go to work. But again, we were young.

We had not planned for Megan to follow so soon afterwards. We wanted a big family, but it was soon. That had not stopped me from being ecstatic when I found out I would be having a girl. After Buzz, I had imagined my daughter as a sweet gentle little lamb, and soon discovered that girls could be as demanding as boys.

Megan had not been as grumpy as her elder brother, as long as someone had held her in their arms. As soon as we would put her down for naps, or left her in her playpen, she had wailed and screamed till she was out of breath, and we couldn't take it anymore. Again, this had been tiring on both Peter and I, but that didn't stop us from being happy.

Peter and I had talked about having our third child when Megan was about one-year-old. We had always planned for our children to grow up together, and we didn't want to wait too long between each of their birth. We had never discussed it, but I knew Peter secretly wanted a brother for Buzz, while I hoped for another daughter. I won that round, and our Linnie was born. I don't think Peter minded.

While pregnant with Linnie, people had warned me that three would be company, and with the experience of my two first children, I had prepared myself for difficult years ahead, only to be blessed with an angel. Linnie had been a dream child, the kind of child you read about; she was already sleeping through the night when we brought her back from the hospital, and I had to wake her up to feed her. She could sleep through a storm, including her older sibling's ruckus. How my sisters-in-laws envied me! Linnie's calm and smiling nature had come as a relief to both Peter and I.

When Jeff was born a little over two years later, it had been with no small satisfaction that I saw that one of my children had finally inherited my flaming hair color. All my children had been different in their own unique ways. Jeff was the quiet one. Not in the same sweet way Linnie had been. Jeff was quiet, in the "beware the quiet one" meaning of the word. He was always thinking hard, putting things together. How many times had I told his daycare workers to keep an eye on him, only to listen to the hair-raising stories they would tell me when I came to pick him up in the evening?

Jeff's the one who found a way to climb out of his crib before he was one-year-old, the one who managed to remove the outlet covers, the one who opened "baby proof" bottles and cabinets. There was no such thing as baby proof when it came to Jeff.

And then came Kevin. Our fifth and last child. Peter and I could've stopped at four children. Four was a nice family. Two boys, two girls. A perfect family, really, but I wasn't done. I wasn't done being a mother. I wanted another baby and I had Kevin for no other reason than because I wanted him. I knew he would be our last, and that did make him extra special in my heart. No matter how old he got, he was always my baby.

And Kevin had been such a beautiful baby! It wasn't simply fanning over my newborn, everybody said so! All the nurses said Kevin was adorable and, had I been shallower, I would've entered him in a beauty contest competition I am certain he would've won. Those first few days when I had had Kevin all to myself at the hospital had been the best. I had savoured them as much as possible, knowing what awaited me back home.

The children had always welcomed the arrival of a new sibling with awe and excitement, save for Buzz. He had gone through the experience thrice already and had been quite blasé by the whole thing.

"Here Buzz, meet your new brother."

Unlike Megan and Linnie who had argued over who would hold the baby first, my seven-year-old had not been that interested in this latest addition to our family.

"Another one?" he had sounded exasperated. "I didn't need another brother, you know. This had better be the last one."

I knew I should've reprimanded him, but Buzz's tiny scowl was so funny, Peter and I had burst out laughing. Those were happy memories, so why did they hurt so much?

With five children under the age of ten, I'll admit there were many times over the years when I felt I might not have given Kevin my full attention. How many times had I been too short with him? Didn't make the time to play with him, or told him stories? I never thought I would have regrets where the children were concerned. I always thought there would be plenty of time to make up for it in the future, and before I had known it, the years had slipped away. Had I known what the future had in store…

I had always wanted a big family…

"Mrs. McCallister?"

I turned around and saw Mr. Lime and his partner a few steps away from me. How long had I been standing in front of the window, staring into space?

"Are you all right?" asked Mr. Lime.

He was looking at my hands and I saw I was wringing them. It was a sign of anxiety I had inherited from my own mother and I made myself stop. Instead of answering the man, I turned back to business; it was easier than telling the truth.

"Have you figured what is wrong with our furnace?"

Mr. Lime considered me a moment in silence, but tactfully did not insist. He showed me a dirty rag he had been holding instead:

"It's soot." he informed me. "The inside of your furnace is covered in it.

– So our furnace needs a good cleaning?"

The man shook his head slowly.

"Not exactly. It means your system isn't burning cleanly. When was the last time you had a maintenance check-up?"

I searched my memory, but could not remember. Was it last spring? Or the one before that? I had lost track of these things.

"I'm not sure. I should have an invoice somewhere.

– I take it it's been a while." the man read between the lines. "Have you noticed any cold spots around the house?"

Cold spots around the house? What house didn't have a cold spots or two. I shrugged:

"It's an old house, isn't that common?

– It shouldn't be, not with a gravity furnace." he said, taking some notes. "My partner and I would need to inspect the air ducts around the house to make sure nothing is blocking them, is that all right?

– Yes, of course."

I guided the taller of the two men upstairs, while Mr. Lime toured the first level. I wished I had known repairmen would be coming; I would've asked the children to tidy up their rooms before they left.

"You'll have to excuse the state of the house, we had to let our cleaning lady go, and I have not had the time to replace her." I informed the man.

My mother was the one who had persuaded me to cancel our contract with our cleaning agency after showing me reports after reports of various insurance companies that linked hired help to a significant higher risk of burglaries.

Peter and I had always been satisfied with the agency's services, and although I did not think they were involved in Kevin's kidnapping, I didn't want strangers accessing our house anymore. It had also made me realise how many of our neighbors employed cleaning agencies, the same neighbors that had been robbed over the holidays… It didn't seem worth the risk anymore. Our house was a _big_ house; It was hard to keep up with the everyday cleaning it required.

My explanation was met with indifference by the man. He was probably used to it, and I liked to think he had seen worse. We went from one room to the other, and I saw on more than one occasion how he would take-in his surroundings. While I would not say he looked impressed, he did seem to appreciate the decor. Everybody did.

Peter and I had fallen in love with this house the moment we had set our eyes on it. Back then, we still lived in our starter's house, a nice little fixer upper in Northbrook. I was pregnant with Linnie and Peter and I had been house hunting for weeks. We had visited many neighborhoods before considering Winnetka. The Village offered the best of two worlds; Close enough to Chicago with all the commodities of suburban life. Our realtor had then taken us to Lincoln Avenue and this house had taken our breath away.

It had everything we had been looking for, and more. It was a grand house, yet warm and welcoming. It had an old world charm that most of the modern houses lacked. The house had this wholesome aura that spoke to me. I imagined my children and myself growing old in that house. It was a place where it would be safe for our children to play in the streets, and where they could walk to school.

It was simply perfect.

A real dream house.

"Do you mind if I push that around?" the man asked, abruptly bringing me back to reality.

We had reached Kevin's room and the man was pointing at the dresser.

"Oh, here, let me-

– No, it's fine." he said, pushing the wooden dresser out of the way as if it weighted nothing.

"I don't think I got your name." I tried to make conversation as he knelled down and removed the air vent cover.

The man did not look up and I wasn't sure he had heard me until he answered:

"It's Merchants. Marvin Merchants."

His answer was polite, but curt. He did not seem inclined to talk. That would not usually have bothered me, as I had never been one for small talk, but it seemed impolite to stand there as the man worked.

"You should watch your kids." Mr. Merchants suddenly said without lifting his head.

I felt myself blanch, as if struck. _How dare him!_ I wasn't about to let this man, this stranger, insult me!

"I beg your pardon." I replied coldly, two seconds away from showing him the door.

"You should watch your kids." he repeated, unfazed by my tone. "They've been throwing stuff down the air vent." he said, retrieving marbles, puzzle pieces, wax crayons, pieces of string and micro machines.

His explanation washed my anger away, leaving me feeling ridiculous.

"Oh… I'll talk to them.

– It's not dangerous or anything." he said looking at the micro machine in the palm of his hand, frowning "but it disturbs the airflow in your house. It can end up costing you a lot of money. How many kids do you have anyway?"

This time, I tried to persuade myself there was no irritation in the man's voice. Why would Mr. Merchants care how many children we had? It's not as if our children were neglected or anything.

"Five; two girls, three boys.

– Girls hide their diaries and love letters in the air ducts; boys tend to stash their Playboy collection down there.

– My sons do not read that sort of filth." I replied, appalled at the idea.

"If you say so." shrugged Mr. Merchants as he replaced the air vent cover.

And sure enough, I watched as the repairman retrieved a music box, paintbrushes, and plastic rings in the girls' room and candy wrappers, two empty cans of beer, and a pocket knife in Buzz's room.

Mr. Merchants did not gloat at his discoveries, but I thought I caught a gleam of amusement bordering on contempt in his eyes when we left the room. Was it the figment of my imagination or did the silence become uncomfortable? I felt obliged to break it:

"Do you have any children, Mr. Merchants?

– No."

I did not let that deter me and I continued as he inspected the attic:

"How long have you been working with Mr. Lime?

– A little over fifteen years." he sounded distracted as he peaked out the window to the tree house in the garden.

Mr. Merchants looked down and stepped away from the window, shuddering. I repressed a smirk; afraid of heights and basements, was this man in the right line of work? I immediately regretted the thought; it wasn't like me to be judgmental. To compensate for my snide attitude, I made myself ask:

"Are you from Chicago?"

What a lame question; I had already guessed his boss was not, but I had to fill the silence somehow.

"No, we've been in Chicago for about ten years.

– Oh, where are you from?

– Around." was Mr. Merchants' evasive answer. "I think we're done here." he announced, I suspected to cut my questions short.

When we returned to the first floor, Mr. Lime had also finished his inspection and was admiring the baby grand piano in the living room.

"I didn't find anything." Mr. Merchants told him. "Just the usual jun-" I glared, and he clumsily corrected himself at the last second: "stuff."

Mr. Lime did not comment on his partner's faux pas.

"Well we didn't really expect anything, but it was worth the look. Nice piano." he added. "A Favioli, that's a professional brand, no?

– Imported from Italy. It was my father's. He used to play professionally." I informed him. "Do you play?

– Me? Oh, no. But I can spot quality."

I saw him look at the colorful music sheets that were half hidden by my father's heavier music book.

"Any of your kids play?"

My heart bled. Only one of them did.

"My youngest son plays." I told him, my voice trembling slightly as I added: "I'm afraid none of my other children have inherited my father's love of music."

The first time my father had held Kevin, he had taken one look at his tiny hands, and winked at me.

"This one will make a good musician. I can tell."

There had been a twinkle of pride in his eyes as he had said this. My father had doted on all of his grandchildren, but I think he had been particularly fond of Kevin. He would patiently sit the toddler on his lap while he played the piano, and I remembered my two years-old trying to replicate the symphony by tapping with enthusiasm on the keys, marveling at the sounds he produced. None of my other children had been that taken with piano, or any other instrument, for that matter.

It was unfortunate that my father had passed away when Kevin was so young. He always had a way with him; he could teach Kevin such complicated pieces with ease and would scoff at the ones his piano teacher insisted my son should practice.

"For goodness's sake, Kate. Can't you see the boy is bored to tears? Let him play whatever pieces he likes, as long as he's playing!"

My baby never had much discipline, and was stubborn to boots, but I never had to supervise his piano practice. Kevin would sit down by himself and dutifully practice whatever piece his teacher had assigned before returning to my father's portfolio.

"Your youngest son? The one who's missing?" inquired Mr. Lime.

I felt Mr. Merchants shift his weight from one foot to the other next to me; most people were uncomfortable whenever the matter of my missing son was brought up.

"Kevin, yes.

– I'm real sorry about that."

Mr. Lime's steady gaze wasn't exactly sympathetic. I could tell he was a no-nonsense type of man and that the words had not been spoken out of social convention.

"Thank you.

– There's a dead Christmas tree in your living room." Mr. Merchants suddenly stated.

I did not need to follow the man's gaze to know he was referring to _the_ Christmas tree. Kevin's Christmas tree. The tree none of us had had the courage, or will to take down. Perhaps sensing my distress, Mr. Lime answered for me:

"Marv, I think Mrs. McCallister knows what's in her living room."

There was a warning in his voice, but his younger partner did not take the hint:

"Do you want us to take care of that? Since, you know, you don't have a cleaning lady and all?"

Did I imagine the scorn behind his words? The man's tone was light, and yet I had the sudden and distinctive impression he did not like me. But then Mr. Merchant punctuated his next sentence with a wide smile that made him appear goofy and inoffensive.

"No charges, we promise." he added.

"No, that's all right." I found myself replying, still trying to determine if I had been insulted or not.

"You sure?

– Marv, leave the tree alone, will ya?" snapped his boss.

The front door opened on Buzz, saving Mr. Merchants from replying. The return of my son was a welcomed distraction.

"Hey Mom. I got the mail." he said, handing me a pile of envelops. "Is the furnace repaired, yet?" he asked, eying both men.

I assumed Megan or Jeff must've told him about them.

"No, they have to check a few things.

– I think we have all the information we need." Mr. Lime told me. "We should discuss-

– They didn't fill-in the log." Buzz interrupted him.

My son was holding the notebook we kept by the door which he handed, or more accurately, shoved into Mr. Merchants' hands.

"You have to fill-in the log.

– Huh?

– The log." Buzz repeated impatiently. "Everyone that comes in the house has to fill the log. Name, address, phone number."

The man looked baffled at the request.

"Is that necessary?" he cautiously answered.

I realised how pushy my son sounded and jumped-in:

"Buzz, Chester's in the backyard, do you mind taking him for a walk before it rains? I'll take care of that." I said, reclaiming the notebook from Mr. Merchants.

"Where's Dad?

– He had a meeting and had to leave early."

Buzz looked once again at the two men.

"I'll go rake the yard; I'll walk Chester later, okay?"

I had a feeling my son did not wish to leave me alone with the repairmen, a chivalrous attitude I found both endearing and embarrassing. Why, he acted as if these men were dangerous!

"Don't forget your English essay.

– I know, I'm almost done." Buzz replied, grabbing the garage keys and walking back outside.

My heart swelled with love. He was such a responsible young man; how could I stay mad at him? I then remembered the pocketknife Mr. Merchants had found in his room. I knew neither Peter nor I had bought it for him. This was something we would need to discuss.

"I apologize; my son is not usually this rude. The entire family is on edge…

– Oh, that's all right Mrs. McCallister, we understand." Mr. Lime replied smoothly, but his partner did not conceal his irritation as well and did not reply.

I invited both men in the dining room to discuss the state of the furnace. Mr. Lime sat across me at the table, taking out a form on which to take notes. I could not help but notice he was wearing a black half finger glove on his right hand. The weather did not call for gloves anymore, yet he did not take it off as he wrote. To cover an old injury? I tried my best not to stare.

Mr. Merchants did not sit at the table with his partner and me. He remained standing behind Mr. Lime, having a look around the room.

"Your furnace was installed in 1920, but according to the serial number, was converted to oil in 1944. And your furnace has never needed repairs since?

– No. I was under the impression that gravity furnaces were reliable.

– They are, but when they break… From what we can tell, you have a cracked heat exchanger."

This diagnostic didn't mean a thing to me, but I did not react to avoid betraying my ignorance.

"Can you replace it?

– We can order a new one, yes, but that wouldn't solve your problem." Mr. Lime stated, still scribbling down more information on his form.

"And what _is_ the problem?

– The problem is that we're in 1991, and you're still using a gravity furnace. Have you given any thought to converting to a modern heating system?

– I thought you said the heat exchanger was the problem. What's wrong with the furnace?

– You mean besides the fact it's forty-five-years-old?

– So, let me get this straight; instead of fixing the furnace, you would suggest getting a new one altogether?" I challenged him.

I had a feeling a costly price tag was attached to this recommendation. I did not know anything about furnaces, but that did not intimidate me. I knew contracts. I was right in my element. Mr. Lime answered my question by a question of his own:

"How much is your heating bill? If you are paying more than one twenty, one fifty a month, and something tells me you are, you need a new furnace."

I did not remember the last time our monthly oil bill had been below two hundred dollars. I then recalled my mother's shock when she had come across one of our bills. I had assumed she was no longer used to paying these prices now that she lived in a condominium.

"Well, the house is 4,250-square-foot." I replied matter-a-factly.

"And you are using oil, the most expensive heating system, coupled with the most inefficient furnace on the market." the man retorted, showing a hint of impatience. "If you don't believe me, don't take my word for it, talk to your neighbors. See how much they're paying."

Talking to our neighbors would not help, and for good reason:

"Our neighbors are using natural gas, you can't compare-

– I know you can't." interrupted Mr. Lime. "Natural gas is cheaper than oil. Period. You want our advice? Upgrade. You won't regret it."

Peter and I had discussed switching to natural gas a few times, it was more affordable than oil, but it had never been the right moment. I knew we would have to do it eventually, but now, with everything that was going on…

"I know what you're thinking." Mr. Lime continued. "and you are right, I won't lie; you have an _old_ gravity furnace, replacing it won't be cheap, but it will significantly increase the value of your property, not to mention cutting your heating bills by about thirty-five percent to forty percent."

I had expected this argument from a repairman; it was after all how they made their livelihood. Then again, even if Mr. Lime was exaggerating the benefits of an upgrade, I knew he was right on some level.

"I understand that you are in the middle of a… family crisis." Mr. Lime added when I didn't answer. "So I get that your priority is not exactly the furnace at the moment."

That would've been an understatement. In our current crisis, everything had taken a backseat; the house, our friends, our family, the children… The furnace was just the latest example of how our lives were falling apart. We could not keep putting everything on hold; it was only a matter of time before disaster caught up with us. Some things had to be dealt with, no matter how tiresome. Like the furnace.

"How much would a new heat exchanger cost?" I asked, to prevent myself from thinking too hard about Kevin.

"Around five hundred bucks, no less. Plus labour cost for six to ten hours of work, you are looking at about two thousand dollars.

– How quickly could it be installed?"

For the first time, the man turned to his partner:

"Marv? You think you can find a compatible heat exchanger?

– It's been a while since I came across one that old, but I'm sure I can find one."

Mr. Lime seemed satisfied with the answer:

"If that's the option you want to go with, it could be done in a matter of days, no problem. I would _strongly_ advise you to buy a few carbon monoxide detectors. The furnaces back in the days were not subjected to the same building codes used by the industry today. The risk may be low, but there is a chance of carbon monoxide leak. It wouldn't keep me up at night, but there _is_ a risk. The least you can do is install detectors."

I smiled faintly. He had saved the carbon monoxide for the end. Clever.

"And how much would converting to a gas furnace cost?" I replied.

"Standard quality models for the furnace alone would be around seven hundred bucks. It usually takes us four to ten hours to install. Taking out your old furnace and the air ducts is what will really cost you; for this job, we're talking about four grand."

Four thousand dollars; that was twice the cost of installing a new heat exchanger. Mr. Lime did not try to spin me some tale about cutting us a deal, or flaunt his expertise. There was a frankness about his manners I liked. He had presented me with options and trusted me to be smart enough to pick the right one.

"You have a good sale pitch." I remarked.

Mr. Lime did not seem insulted and smiled:

"Changing the heat exchanger, or converting to another heating system; those are the two most expensive and labour-intensive work there are when it comes to furnaces. You can get a second opinion from another company if you wish, but I doubt they'll come to a different conclusion. I'll draw you a few estimates with different options for your husband and you to review."

Two or four thousand dollar; One way or another, it was a lot of money. Many people would've settled for buying a new heat exchanger, but as Mr. Lime had said, it wouldn't fix our problem in the long run.

"That won't be necessary." I stopped him. "My husband and I had already discussed converting to a gas furnace. If we don't do it now, we'll never do it."

Mr. Lime looked pleased, but surprised by my quick decision.

"Are you sure? Winter is over; you can take your time and think about it."

But my decision was made. If we didn't change the furnace now, I knew we would forget all about it, and how much more would it cost us to convert later? Taking this decision also made me feel better. I had been powerless for so long. The furnace was something I had control over; I could fix this, unlike everything else in my life.

"Yes, I am sure. How soon can you start?

– I'll draw an official estimate today, and we can go over what furnace model you would like.

– Perfect. As long as you can guarantee this won't drag on for weeks on end.

– That won't be a problem." Mr. Lime affirmed.

We went over more details, including the city permit, which I was pleased to hear they would acquire themselves. Talk about being client oriented; Mrs. Reed had been right to recommend them.

"It's no problem; the city processes the requests of licenced contractors a lot quicker than private citizens'." Mr. Lime informed me as he gathered his notes.

"Thank you for your sound advises."

Mr. Lime and I shook hands, but I quickly let go as I saw him wince.

"Oh, I'm sorry.

– That's okay. Just a bad burn I got a few months back."

So his glove did cover an injury.

"Nothing too serious, I hope.

– It'll heal. My pride suffered most, but I've learned from the mistake. It won't happen again."

As Mr. Lime flexed his fingers, it was as though his expression hardened for a moment, making him appear, dare I say… intimidating. It lasted no more than a second or two, but it left me feeling of uneasy. I was being paranoid again; there was no reason for me to worry, no reason at all. Being angry with oneself was perfectly normal, I would know, and Mr. Lime had been nothing but professional in his interaction.

We both moved to return to the hall, when we noticed that Mr. Merchants had picked up one of Kevin's missing poster from a box on the floor, and was studying it intently.

"Marv, we're done." his boss called, seemingly annoyed.

"That's all right." I said, noticing Mr. Merchants fleeing guilty expression. I didn't want Mr. Lime to reprimand his partner; these posters were meant to be seen. "You can keep it." I added. "I try to distribute those as much as possible."

The man took a final look at the poster before folding and pocketing it, remarking:

"Your kid looks like a very sweet boy."

I had a sudden flash of Kevin stumping his foot when he didn't get his way, talking back, quarrelling with his siblings and vying for attention, and I found myself laughing a wry laugh:

"You wouldn't say so if you'd met Kevin. He may look like an angel, but he's more trouble than all his siblings put together."

My remark was met with stony expressions from both men. What must they be thinking? I smiled, perhaps more sadly than I intended:

"That's what I miss most about him. Never a dull moment."

I had not meant to express my sorrow so frankly in front of these men, and I cleared my throat.

"I apologize; talking about my son is…

– Difficult. We understand.

– At least you have your other kids." Mr. Merchants added, earning himself another sharp nudge to the side from his boss.

I pursed my lips and did not answer. Only a childless man would think my other children could make up for my missing son. I tried to ignore my anger; Mr. Merchants was ignorant, not mean spirited, at least I didn't think he was.

"We'll try to complete our work on the furnace as quickly as possible." Mr. Lime promised. "And we'll be discreet, you can count on us.

– Thank you, Mr. Lime." I responded with poise.

Shaking hands one again with both of them, Mr. Lime tried to lighten up the mood by saying:

"You won't regret your decision, Mrs. McCallister. And don't worry about your home. It's in good hands."

For some reason, those words stirred a memory.

"I'm sorry, I having this feeling... Have we met before?"

I saw Mr. Lime pause for a moment and his partner's smile froze in place.

"I don't think so." he finally answered, searching my eyes for confirmation.

After some hesitation, Mr. Lime added:

"But one of my brothers is on the Chicago police force. You might've met him. He… did mention you son's case."

A policeman? I had seen so many police officers, detectives and others come and go these past months, it was impossible for me to remember most of them. If I had seen or spoken to Mr. Lime's brother, it would explain this sense of déjà-vu I had.

"Yes… That must be it." I agreed.

Where else would I have seen or spoken to Mr. Lime?

 _AN:_

 _Well, I hope this was well worth the wait! I wanted to explore Kate's mind a little more, highlight how being a designer influenced her perceptions. As she always seemed a little partial to Buzz in the movies, even after he had crossed a line, I decided to integrate this element into the story._

 _Just in case you were wondering, Marv really meant to insult Kate with his comments and behaviour, he wasn't being dumb, naïve or ignorant. He was doing it on purpose._

 _Yes, my intention is to include everything Harry told Kevin in Chapter 9 of "Home is where the heart is". Some elements will appear in the next chapter, but others will also be covered in "No Monster"._

 _I'm sorry if things got a little technical when Kate and Harry discussed the furnace; I really wanted to show how he and Marv excelled at their job. For this chapter, I called a heating company and asked them all types of questions, so everything Harry says here is 100% accurate. The technicians were very kind and patient considering they knew I wasn't calling to hire them._


	9. Intuition

_Hello!_

 _Gosh, I did not expect to still be covering the McCallister's side in August! I can't wait to dive back into the main story. Still, this was another fun chapter to write, I hope you'll enjoy!_

 _Oh and to answer Morticialovers's question, Kevin assumed Harry is sending the pictures to Charlie._

Intuition

 _May 16, 1991_

The church was quiet that morning. There were two elderly women sitting together at the back. I could hear them shift position on their bench from time to time. Besides them, the church was nice and quiet.

I sat in silence, by myself, at the front of the nave. Behind the altar, a plain white cross shone in the morning light.

I liked our community church, though I must confess I used to consider it as much a part of the décor as our local pharmacy. My family and I did not attend church that often, but I felt compelled to come here. My renewed interest in the church had little to do with the sermons delivered every Sunday, or the talent of the children's choir; this church was the last place Kevin had been seen.

I sighed heavily, my eyes still on the cross. One would assume I was praying, like a good Christian, like anyone in my situation would, but I wasn't. I knew the words, but they wouldn't come.

All I could think about was that night.

The night that changed everything, that fateful Christmas Eve.

Mr. Marley recalled sending Kevin back home around seven o'clock that evening. I had crossed the threshold of our house shortly after seven o'clock the next morning.

Twelve hours.

Twelve hours could've made all the difference.

I had tried _so_ hard to come back home. So hard. And I had been too late. Twelve hours too late. How many times had I gone over my itinerary in my mind? I'm not sure what I could've done differently, besides not forgetting Kevin.

I had made a mistake. A horrible mistake and I would never forgive myself. But I was _not_ a bad person. I did not deserve to be punished. _Kevin_ did not deserve to be punished for my failings.

I didn't know where to turn to for help anymore; I had begged the detectives, I had begged the journalists, I had begged on national television, I had begged on my knees at church, and in the privacy of my mind. All my prayers had gone unanswered. No one was listening. The only ones who could help me, the ones who had taken my son, did not care to do so.

I looked at the cross behind the altar.

The universe, I found, was an uncaring one.

And I was done begging.

The sound of sharp heels clacking on the polished floor broke my contemplation. I recognized my mother's quick strides and rose as she reached me. Judging by the way she carried her head with pride, I could tell her meeting with the pastor had gone according to plan.

"I take it everything is settled?

– Yes, Reverend Davis will be saying a mass in two weeks for your father's birthday."

My mother was from that generation that believed in the benefits of saying regular masses for the souls of the departed. I did not think my father, wherever he may be, needed a mass said in his name, but the tradition brought comfort to my mother.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long. Reverend Davis is such a nice man." my mother praised the pastor as we walked back down the aisle. "We talked about your father, and he enquired after you and the children, of course."

How thoughtful of Reverend Davis; He was not a friend of the family, but he was a pillar in the community and had baptised three of our five children, including Kevin. Since my son's abduction, the pastor had led several prayer circles for Kevin, and had extended a hand of friendship to our family. Reverend Davis had earned my respect by sharply reminding the community that what it needed was less criticism and more compassion.

I felt the eyes of the other two women on my mother and me, and I wished more people shared his charitable spirit. Those women were waiting for us to leave to talk behind our backs. I picked up the pace, but my mother stopped before we could reach the exit.

"Kate, wait." she motioned to a small alcove where several candles were burning. "You don't mind, do you?"

She always lit one for my father; how could I forget?

"Of course not, Mom."

I stood by her side as she selected a candle and made a small offering before lighting it. She looked so peaceful as she carried the ritual; I envied her unshakable faith. As much as my mother had tried to pass on her beliefs to me, I could never bring myself to blindly trust in a higher power, now less than ever. After a moment of silence, my mother handed me the candle:

"Do you want to light one for Kevin?

– Kevin is not dead. He doesn't need me to light a candle for him." I answered coldly.

"Oh Kate, you know I didn't meant it like that."

But she had. Intentionally or not, I knew my mother thought Kevin was dead; more and more people did. Detective Kincaid never voiced that possibility with Peter and me, but I could sense that he didn't believe their search for Kevin would have a happy conclusion anymore.

This was infuriating.

Kevin was _not_ dead.

I was not being delusional, or holding on to false hopes; Kevin was alive. I knew it. I couldn't explain this feeling, but I knew my son was not lying dead somewhere. He had been kept alive by his kidnapers and, in many ways, this knowledge was more terrifying than the alternative.

Had Kevin died, I would at least have the comfort of knowing his trials were over. Instead, I had to live, day after day, in doubt and fear. My child was at the mercy of complete strangers. What did they want with him? Why had they taken him? Why would they keep him, if not for money? Should I be thankful for this act of apparent mercy, or fear that sinister intentions were behind their interest in my son? No matter how I looked at the facts, they did not bode well for Kevin.

The flickering flames in front of me blurred as tears rose to my eyes.

"He's not dead, Mom. He isn't." I whispered, wiping them away.

"The candles are not just for the dead, Kate." my mother gently reminded me. "But you can light one for your father, if you'd prefer. Ask him to watch over Kevin. You know he'll listen."

This time, I did not reject my mother's candle. I tried my best to control my trembling hand as more tears rolled down my cheek.

"There, there." my mother tried to comfort me by drawing me close to her. "I'm sure Detective Wallace will have some good news for you today."

Peter and I were having our monthly meeting with Detective Wallace later that day. Had the detective had any news, I am sure he would not have waited for our meeting to deliver it, but I made myself nod. I had to hold on to something.

The handling of Kevin's disappearance by the police force had been incompetent at best, even to my untrained eyes. When Peter had suggested hiring a private detective, it had made sense. We needed all the help we could get.

Moreover, in light of the police's suspicions about my and Peter's involvement in Kevin's abduction, it had been reassuring to have someone on _our_ side. Detective Wallace was _our_ man; he wasn't wasting time investigating and building a case against Peter and me, but was looking for Kevin, following leads that the police had abandoned, or ignored.

As time passed, my hopes rested more and more on Detective Wallace. The police had not given up their search, but as there was no new lead for them to investigate, I knew Kevin's case was slowly, but surely, moving towards the cold cases file. Finding Kevin would remain Detective Wallace's priority… as long as we paid him. I tried not to dwell too long on this thought as my mother and I walked back home.

The lilacs in the neighborhood were in bloom and the wind carried its sweet scent all around us. I enjoyed spring and would normally have dedicated my weekends to the flowerbeds around our yard.

I had not bought a single plant this year; in the backyard, my hydrangea hung limp and our vegetable garden was empty. The rose bushes that were my pride and joy were fighting a losing battle against weeds and the vines creeping on our walls were getting out of control. There were no pots filled with bright red and yellow pansies, geranium and marigold to brighten our porch and the bushes needed trimming; our house had never looked so bare. It was depressing, but I had no energy left to play gardener.

"Do you think it was a good idea to go see Reverend Davis whiles the repairmen are there?" my mother worried as we approached the house.

"We weren't gone that long." I assured her. "They wouldn't cause trouble; they're very professional."

And they were. Mr. Lime and his partner always arrived early in the morning and did not dawdle, taking a break around lunchtime and working until four o'clock every day. As promised, they were as discreet as possible, making sure to use the door in the backyard to access the basement instead of the front or kitchen door.

Mr. Lime and his partner were also clean; they had remembered to close off the laundry chutes, along with the air ducts around the house to prevent dust from settling inside. In the basement, they had covered the washing machines and other appliances with sheets to keep them clean. Whenever they left the basement, they would unroll rubber carpets around the house to protect our carpets and floors from their working boots. At the end of each day, they vacuumed the basement thoroughly without fail and gave us a small report on their work progress. So far, they were right on schedule.

I had no reason to complain, no reason at all. Peter and I were quite satisfied with their services. Without needed to be asked, Mr. Lime had drawn a home and heating system assessment for our insurance company and had presented us a list of material and pricing for our review and approval. I could sense Mr. Lime and his partner preferred not having us around when they worked. They would nevertheless keep us informed at every step, making me feel in control of the process.

Most of the time, I would be dealing with Mr. Lime, and I preferred it that way. I didn't know what to make of his partner. I wouldn't say Mr. Merchants was impolite, on the contrary, but there was something off-putting about his manners, thought I could not put my finger on what it was. Mr. Merchants would smile and be pleasant, but for some reason, I could not shake my initial impression that the man disliked me. As their work was drawing to a close, I had decided to let it go.

"It's not as if we left them alone, anyway, Buzz is home." I reminded my mother, noticing the freshly mowed lawn.

Peter and I had not asked him to take care of the lawn today. I felt such a surge of gratitude and love for my elder that it was hard for me to remember that he was grounded.

"Buzz? We're back!" I called as I opened the door.

I did not expect anything more than a courtesy hello as an answer, which is why I was surprised to hear Buzz call back excitingly from his room:

"Mom, guess what!"

He hurried down the stairs followed by Chester and I was surprised to see that Buzz was grinning. I realised I had not seen him smile in a while. It felt good to see him in a good mood.

"You mowed the lawn, thank you." I said patting Chester before hanging my vest.

"Yes, but that's not it. You'll never guess!"

Without waiting for my reply Buzz continued:

"You know the tall repair guy?

– Mr. Merchants? What about him?

– He found Axl! He's been hiding in the air ducts all this time!"

Axl? I squirmed internally, imagining the poor man's reaction at finding a tarantula lurking in our air ducts. Talk about an unpleasant surprise!

"Oh, Buzz! Is Axl all right?

– He looks okay. I put him back in his terrarium. Good thing I didn't throw it away!

– I hope Mr. Merchants wasn't too… shocked."

My son's grin widened.

"You should've heard him scream. I heard him all the way from the garage."

Oh dear... I hoped my son had not laughed too hard in his face; Buzz had always enjoyed people's fear of Axl a bit too much.

"Can I run to the pet store? I want to buy fresh food for Axl." he requested, seemingly unperturbed by the man's fright.

"Go, I'm sure he'll be hungry after all those months."

I did not want to think about what Axl could've eaten in our air ducts to survive.

"Do you need money?

– No, I got it. I was waiting for you and grandma to come back." he replied, grabbing his coat, and the dog's leash. "Come on, Chester."

Chester scrambled after Buzz and I watched the two of them go, thankful for the good news. I didn't really care about the tarantula, I had no love for that spider, but I was glad my son had his pet back. Not to mention the girls would sleep a lot better knowing Axl was back in his terrarium.

"Who's Axl?" my mother asked.

"You know Axl, Mom. It's Buzz's pet tarantula.

My mother wrinkled her nose in disgust:

"Why did you ever buy him that thing?" she shuddered. "It's horrible.

– It's a hobby, Mom. And Buzz likes his tarantula. I'm glad he found it."

And I meant it. Axl was not a part of the family the same way Chester was, but I saw Axl's miraculous recovery as a good sign. Maybe, just maybe, faith had another miracle in store for our family.

"Will Peter be back for lunch? I was thinking about a nice broccoli salad with grapes and sprouts." my mother suggested upon entering the kitchen.

"Peter won't be back until our meeting with Detective Wallace, and you know you don't have to cook all the time, Mom.

– Someone has to make sure you eat something.

– I eat, Mom. Stop worrying.

– Coffee doesn't count as food." my mother remarked, watching me prepare a fresh brew of coffee.

I preferred not to respond. Eating full meals was an everyday struggle for me. I had no appetite and drank more coffee than I should. While I nevertheless filled the coffee pot with water, I looked out the kitchen window and saw Mr. Merchant and Mr. Lime standing by their van off our backyard.

"That man does _not_ look happy." my mother commented.

She was referring to Mr. Merchants who, as my mother had pointed out, looked wired. He was pacing the backyard while his partner tried to calm him down. They were not shouting, but I could see Mr. Merchants was in a temper.

"Can you blame him, Mom? Who would expect to find a tarantula in a house in Chicago?"

Given that the men were not animal lovers, I assumed they mustn't have much affection for arachnids either.

"I should probably go talk to them, make sure Mr. Merchants is all right."

Politeness dictated that I should say something. They had been working under our roof when the incident had happened. I had also never thought to mention anything about a tarantula on the loose, I might've therefore been partly to blame for his unpleasant surprise.

"You want to bring them some of my chocolate chip cookies?" my mother offered.

"Mom, they're not children." I said, turning on the coffee machine. "I don't think cookies are what Mr. Merchants needs right now.

– All the same; I'd bring them cookies if I were you." my mother advised.

I did not heed my mother's suggestion and headed outside. Mr. Lime and his partner did not see me right away. As it didn't seem polite to call out to them, I walked over to their van. Mr. Merchants soon made me regret this decision as his angry hiss carried across the yard:

"Stop telling _me_ to calm down, Harry! That fucking thing wasn't in your face! _Again_! Like I needed any more nightmares! I swear the damn kid jinxed-"

But then both men spotted me and stopped talking, looking alarmed. They probably did not want to use that kind of language in front of clients. I recognized that Mr. Merchants had good reasons to be riled up and I wanted to be sympathetic, I really did, but I didn't care for the tone he used to talk about Buzz.

"Good morning." I greeted them, pretending I had not heard a thing. "My son told me how you found his pet."

At the mention of Buzz, Mr. Merchant scowled, his face reddening. As I had feared, my son had had a good laugh at his expense. We were not off to a good start. How I would've welcomes my mother's cookies right about now, I reflected. Trying to sound grateful, I continued:

"I wanted to thank you for finding his tarantula.

– It's fine, Mrs. McCallister. Don't worry about it." answered Mr. Lime. "Right, Marv?"

Mr. Merchants did not respond and glared back at me, accusingly.

"Thank you, really." I repeated trying to smooth things out. "It may be a spider, but it means a lot to him.

– Does he often let his pet spider out for a walk?" the man replied with venom.

"Marv, let it go." ordered Mr. Lime.

"It's all right. I know I wouldn't want to stumble onto Axl when I least expect it." I replied, laughing nervously.

Mr. Merchants did not crack a smile, killing my laughter. I regained my seriousness.

"My son's tarantula had been missing since… since the Christmas breaking-in. It was set loose by the burglars and-

– The burglars?"

Mr. Merchants looked disbelieving, while Mr. Lime frowned to himself.

"Yes, they… ransacked my eldest son's room." I felt the need to explain. "The tarantula's terrarium was turned over and by the time we returned… it had vanished."

Along with Kevin…

The police had long speculated that Buzz's room might've been trashed by the intruders as they were giving chase to Kevin, trying to grab him. Oh God, I didn't want to think about that! My poor baby must've been terrified!

With no regards to my distress, Mr. Merchants replied, almost sarcastically:

"So you think the _burglars_ would've set a giant spider free.

– Well, I assume they didn't do it on purpose." I responded, getting flustered.

I did not understand where his anger was coming from. Surely, he didn't think we had planted Axl in the air ducts as a joke!

"I've made cookies!" my mother suddenly appeared, brandishing a plate.

I didn't want to admit it, but her cookies were a welcomed distraction. Without waiting for a reply, my mother presented the plate to Mr. Merchants.

"Have one; you deserve it after the morning you've had!" she said with warmth. "I know I would've died of fright had I seen that awful spider anywhere near me!" she added, soothing the man's ego.

At first, Mr. Merchants seemed stumped by my mother's peace offering. Thankfully, his anger faded away. He accepted a cookie, earning himself a smile from my mother.

"I told my daughter I don't know how many times that spiders were not appropriate pets for children." she added, presenting the plate to Mr. Lime who also took one, but did not take a bite.

He was still watching his partner, perhaps fearing another angry outburst.

"Of course this wasn't my grandson's fault." my mother sighed, shaking her head. "If someone is to blame, it's those evil burglars! Wait till the police finds them; Lord knows those people will hang for what they did!"

Mr. Merchants chocked on his cookie, and his partner helpfully slapped him on the back, making him swallow hard.

"I didn't know they sent people on death row for kidnapping." Mr. Merchants replied, his eyes watery.

– They don't, Marv." Mr. Lime informed him. "Capital punishment has not been used in kidnapping cases since '68. Murderers are sent on death row. Not kidnappers.

– Have you studied Law, Mr. Lime?" I asked, surprised by his knowledge on the matter.

He hesitated, before shrugging:

"I watch _America's Most Wanted_."

I did not watch that show, but Buzz sometimes did. Like most people, I had heard of the tragedy that had inspired its host, John Walsh, to launch the popular show. I suddenly realised that our family had a lot in common with the notorious missing child advocate. God, and to think of what had happened to _his_ little boy…The thought made my skin crawl. I shuddered under the spring sun and rubbed my arms discreetly to drive the goose bumps away.

"Well, you know what they say" my mother replied, all smiles. "Laws _can_ be changed. Fingers crossed!

– Mom, don't…" I pleaded, trying to avoid getting into the contentious subject.

My mother's beliefs in capital punishment were not universally shared, and judging by his outraged expression, I had a feeling that Mr. Merchants was a staunch opponent.

"You'd send someone to death, even if they didn't hurt nobody? What if the kid's fine? You don't know!" he objected.

I was touched to hear him voice his belief that Kevin was still alive, but my mother was not moved.

"Some people" she answered, raising her chin "deserve to burn."

My mother was still smiling sweetly, but her eyes had hardened, challenging. Mr. Lime quickly interrupted the conversation to prevent it from escalating:

"Marv, not _here_." he stressed.

Turning to my mother and me, he firmly took their leave:

"Mrs. McCallister, Ma'am, thank you for the cookies, but we better go back to work.

– Right… Excuse us." grumbled Mr. Merchants as he followed his partner.

He did not eat the rest of his cookie.

"Mom, did you have to do that?" I sighed when the two men were out of earshot.

Her cookies should've saved the conversation; why did she have to raise the matter of capital punishment with them?

"I don't know what you mean, Kate." she replied innocently, closing the kitchen door behind her.

By then, the coffee was ready and I poured us both a cup.

"Mr. Merchants works here; you put him in an impossible position.

– An impossible position? Giving what our family is going through, what else could he expect? Don't tell me you disagree!"

Although I did not always endorse the use of capital punishment, I had not given it much thought in regards to Kevin's abductors. All I wanted was my son back. Talks of revenge or punishment could wait.

"Mom, just… don't. I can't think about that right now, okay?"

My mother wisely did not insist. I was about to retire to the solarium when I heard someone come up the basement stairs. The door opened on Mr. Lime.

"Sorry to bother you, Mrs. McCallister; your son dropped this earlier." he said, polite as ever, handling me a crumple piece of paper. "It looked important.

– Oh, thank you. And I hope your partner will be all right. I am very sorry Mr. Merchants had to find my son's tarantula this way.

– He'll get over it. We've had worse days, believe me." looking at my mother, he added: "He didn't mean to upset anyone.

– Well, that one is a real gentleman." my mother approved, once Mr. Lime had returned to the basement. "His partner could learn a thing or two from him, don't you agree, Kate?"

I mumbled in agreement, already unfolding the piece of paper Mr. Lime had brought me. It was a letter. For a second, I dreaded discovering additional bad news from school, until I noticed the logo on top of the page. It was a letter from the Point Guard College Basketball Camps.

I quickly skimmed through the letter and saw that Buzz had not only been accepted in their flagship program, but in all three of their summer camps. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally some good news! Buzz had been looking forward to this program since he first entered middle school. Given the limited spots in the coveted program, his coach had to write letters of recommendations to support his application way back in autumn. Buzz would be so happy!

I then realized that my son must already know, since he had dropped his letter in the basement for Mr. Lime to find. I supposed Buzz could've forgotten to mention it, overjoyed by Axl's recovery, but would he have crumpled the letter?

"Something wrong, Kate?" enquired my mother.

I did not share my unease with her, and pocketed the letter.

"No, Mom; Buzz has been accepted in a basketball camp, that's all."

Carrying my cup of coffee, I went in the solarium where a mounting pile of work was waiting for me. I had fallen behind on too many files. Over the past months, I had delegated many tasks to my stylists and designer team, but there were details they could not handle. This was still my company and they needed minimal direction.

I opened the binders my assistant had brought and poured over the latest collections, trying to recapture my drive. The styles that had defined the industry for years were definitely on the way out. Hair spray, large hair-dos, and permanent waves were out; the new trend, I saw, was leaning toward less flashy and more carefree.

No more wild patterns, I underscored on my notes. Sequin was out, and so were ruffles. Classy, simple and natural was the new modus operandi. Black was back, along with subdued solid colors.

Clothes would be looser and comfortable; I noted as I reviewed the recent Prada and Versace collections. I could see the first hints of the seventies making a comeback. I smiled at the idea of clothes I once wore, tie-dye shirts, and bell-bottom jeans, worn by my daughters.

I was reviewing sketches and had drafted some of my own when I heard the front door open, announcing Buzz's return from the pet shop. I could delay the conversation about his Point Guard College letter, but it wasn't my style. I was no coward. Tearing myself from my work, I joined Buzz in the foyer. I saw that he had bought a bag of live crickets for Axl and a beef hide bone for Chester. Our dog carried his treat proudly in the living room, where I knew it would keep him busy for an hour or two.

"Hey, Mom. They didn't have mice guts, but I think Axl deserves live preys. More proteins.

– I'm sure he will."

I waited until he had taken his shoes off to say:

"I spoke with the furnace repairmen.

– Yeah?"

Buzz's repressed another grin, until I pulled out the letter.

"You dropped this in the basement." I said, watching his expression closely.

Buzz's smile slowly disappeared.

"That's nothing, Mom." he replied, reaching for the letter.

I let him have it, still processing his reaction.

"Nothing? Buzz, you've been accepted in the PGC summer camps. All three of them! This is great news, why didn't you tell me?"

But I could see my son was less than thrilled by the way he avoided my eyes.

"What's wrong? Aren't you happy?" I insisted, trying to understand his lack of enthusiasm.

"Sure it's great, but… I'm not going."

– What do you mean? Why not?"

Basketball was Buzz's passion! He wouldn't give it up without a good reason.

"I'm not going, Mom. I don't feel like it anymore."

Going to the PGC camp had been one of Buzz's long-lived dreams. There was only one explanation for his sudden change of heart, and it broke mine to see him put a cross on something that meant so much to him.

"Buzz, you've waited for this for two years." I said gravely.

"I changed my mind. I don't want to go anymore."

Hoping to end this conversation, Buzz climbed the stairs, but I followed him all the way to his bedroom.

"Can we talk about this?

– There's nothing to talk about, Mom. I don't want to go. It's… too expensive."

Since when did Buzz worry about money? Granted a combination of all three professional summer camps wouldn't be cheap, but Peter and I had always known it. We would not have encouraged Buzz to apply to this program unless we could afford it.

"Money is not a problem, Buzz. Let your father and me worry about that.

– Mom, I'm never going to be a professional NBA player, so who cares about that stupid camp!" he angrily shouted back. "I don't want to waste my time and your money; let it go!"

Buzz's outburst stunned me. Our children did _not_ shout, least of all at Peter or me. I felt no anger toward Buzz, only sadness.

Turning his back to me, he opened Axl's terrarium and dropped a few crickets inside. I averted my eyes when I caught a sight of the spider scurrying toward the insects.

Shouting back at Buzz wouldn't help and I sat on his bed and waited for him to calm down, my eyes circling the room. Now that Buzz shared his bedroom with Jeff, we had to rearrange it at bit. There was a new twin bed under the window, where Buzz's desk used to be. We had not replaced his broken shelves and his desk occupied that space. As for Buzz's bed, he had pushed it against the wall opposed to his brother's bed.

Buzz had temporary set up Axl's terrarium on his desk where it took most of the space. I made a note to buy a new shelf for the terrarium.

When I felt that enough time had passed, I took a deep breath and spoke:

"Buzz, following your passion isn't a waste of money."

We all knew Buzz would never be a professional basketball player. Encouraging him to invest himself in this sport, or any other, had never been the point. We encouraged him because we knew how much he enjoyed it. Being involved in sports kept Buzz busy, healthy, and out of trouble.

I waited to see if he would say something, but faced with Buzz's silence, I decided to touch upon the matter that was at the heart of his change of attitude:

"Don't do this, Buzz. Don't punish yourself. Not going to camp won't bring Kevin back.

– I know that." Buzz answered, still refusing to look at me.

I grew desperate. I wanted Buzz to go and enjoy himself. He _needed_ to attend those camps. How could I make him see and accept this?

"Weren't David and Hugo applying as well? Don't you want to spend the summer with your friends?"

I hoped that by mentioning his friends, Buzz might be tempted to rethink his decision. He was at an age where friends were an extension of family. Buzz normally would've jumped on the opportunity to spend the summer with them.

"I don't know if they've been accepted." he shrugged. "I haven't told them."

This wasn't like him. My son was no gossip, but Buzz normally would've shared this good news with his friends and teammates.

"Buzz, what's wrong? What is this really about? Tell me."

Buzz put the bag of crickets to the side and busied himself with adjusting the humidifier in Axl's terrarium. After a while, I heard him mumble:

"Wheaton College is over an hour away. That's far."

Of all the reasons Buzz could've raised, distance was not one I ever expected him to consider. It was the sort of details mothers worried about, not teenage boys. Teenagers should want nothing more than to spend as much time as possible with their friends, away from their parents.

"We knew that. They have dorm for out of town students."

Buzz shook his head.

"I'm not going. I'm not leaving. I'm staying here. Home."

His voice trembled as he said this. Although he kept his back to me, I sensed how close he was to tears. Buzz had always been such a confident boy, to see his anxiety, was unsettling. Most frustrating of all was that there wasn't much I could do. There was no magic solution to fix all of this. I was powerless to help my family and it made me sick. I let my mother's instinct take over and crossed the room to close my arms around Buzz. He stubbornly refused to look at me, but he held on to me.

"I won't go. I can't leave."

Buzz could be as stubborn as I was. Beneath his hardened tone, he sounded as sad and lost as the rest of us.

"Buzz, you might not have another chance.

– I don't care. I don't want to go."

His decision came from a good place, but it wasn't fair to him. Kissing the top of Buzz's head, I wondered how I could right this wrong. More than anything, I wanted my children to have a normal life, be happy. It shouldn't be this hard. Kevin's disappearance had crippled our family in a way I had not foreseen.

"We'll… talk about this with your father." I decided, still at a loss as to what to do.

Peter knew how to speak to Buzz. If anyone stood a chance to change my son's mind, it would be him.

"I'm not going." Buzz repeated.

"Later, Buzz. And no matter what you decide, your father and I are proud of you."

I hugged him again and brushed his hair before exiting the room, closing the door behind me. I found my mother at the foot of the stairs, looking anxious.

"I heard. Is he…? I mean, he's taking everything very hard, isn't he?"

Beyond her concern, I saw for the first time how small my mother was. My mother had always been there. She possessed an inner strength that made her a force to be reckoned with. I however saw for the first time that she was old and, dare I say, frail. It frightened me.

"Yes." I answered sadly. "We all are taking it very hard."

My mother did not share her pain with me. She did not discuss her feelings, probably to spare me, but I knew how much Kevin's lost had affected her as well. But there she was, at my side, putting me first as she had always done, trying to support and advise me.

"Kate, those camps… Buzz should go. I know he doesn't want to right now, but being around boys his age, that would be good for him.

– I know, Mom. I'm not sure making him do something he doesn't want is the best solution right now.

– Maybe… Maybe talking to that psychologist is not such a bad idea. It might help him." my mother whispered, looking up the staircase to make sure Buzz did no overhear her.

I looked away and did not answer. As much as I loathed to admit it, there were too many situations I did not know how to handle. Trying my best wasn't enough anymore. Our family needed help.

I went back to my work while my mother returned to watching her stories in the living room. I'm not sure either one of us were able to concentrate. Chester came to sleep at my feet, his chewed up bone between his paws. I scratched him between the ears absentmindedly.

To be honest, I wasn't sure I liked the idea of sending Buzz away, even if it were only for a few weeks. As an adult, I knew it was best for Buzz, but the mother inside me screamed for him to remain close to home where he would be safe. Forever. I sighed. With all this stress, I was becoming irrational. If I let myself go down that rabbit hole, I would be the one needing therapy.

I flipped through my portfolio once again, trying to pick up where I had left off, but my mind wasn't on the upcoming winter collection. There seemed to be no limit to my family's torment and I was tired to being torn from all sides.

I had to concentrate. I had deadlines to meet I kept reminding myself. I could do this, I had simply to gather my will power. Low heel shoes and platforms were slowing replacing the glamorous stilettos, which would be a nice reprieve for my feet. _Only_ t _hree percent of all child abduction involves non-family members. These constitute the most serious and perplexing challenge facing law enforcement._ Flannel shirts? How were we supposed to make those look sexy? _This type of_ _abductions usually occurs during the commission of another crime, such as a robbery._ Denim. Denim everything. _In most cases,_ _abducted children first encounter their kidnappers in a quarter mile radius from their home._ Wide skirts would look lovely, I'm sure I could come up with some nice designs... _Kidnappers are often someone the child has seen before._ Silk shirts- _About half of these missing children never make it home._

I don't want to see you again for the rest of my whole life!

I dropped my pen and stared at the pages in front of me. There were no clothes, no dresses nor shirts or patterns, but drawings of little boys; Wide eyes little boys with a mischievous smile and, although the drawing was in pencil, blond hair.

Kevin.

My son was alive, this I knew, but I also knew he desperately needed me. I would often wake up in the middle of night, persuaded I had heard him crying for me, and I wasn't entirely sure those were dreams. This was pure torture; there was no other word for it. I would've done anything to have Kevin back, given anything to see him, or hold him.

I snapped my sketching book shut. It was useless. My mind wasn't on clothes. I hadn't produced a decent sketch in months. It was lucky I could rely on such a solid team or we could not have presented a single collection on time this year. I grabbed the contracts file instead. For some reason, I found it easier to bury myself in numbers.

I'm not sure how I managed to get through my files. By the time Peter came back home, I had discussed a new catalogue venue with my sales representatives, analysed and set prices for the fall collection and renewed a contract with our fabric supplier. It wasn't much, but I had accomplished something.

I was on the phone when Peter's car pulled in the driveway. I heard him greet my mother and wrapped up my call as he entered the solarium.

"You're home early." I welcomed him with a kiss.

I had not expected Peter for another hour.

"Yes, I decided to leave earlier today. You remember those new clients I met on Monday? They're signing with the firm.

– Oh Peter, that's wonderful! I knew they would." I said, getting up to properly embrace him.

Our family had received such good news today I felt my spirit rise. Peter looked pleased with himself, but preoccupied. My husband was normally more enthusiastic after closing a deal. I didn't expect him to leap with joy, but I thought he would savour this morale boost.

"Is something wrong, Peter?"

He smiled a tired smile.

"Nothing is wrong, Kate. Something came up."

I felt myself go pale.

"Something? Peter, what is it?"

Catching my expression, Peter was quick to reassure me.

"Nothing bad, Kate. Clarkson has asked me to go to L.A. to oversee the final details of a merger deal. There seems to be some inconsistencies in the client's portfolio and I need to go over there to reassure our client."

Peter and I both used to travel all the time for work. This was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a part of our jobs. Sometimes we had to hire a sitter to take care of the kids when we were both away on business. I used to be excited every time one of these trips would come up. I lived for the two yearly fashion weeks. I had never attended the one held in Milan, but I would never miss the one in New York and would alternate between Paris and London. There were many reasons to travel; the smaller resort shows, trade shows, new manufacturers to meet, etc. It spiced up the routine, offered new perspective and inspired me.

Our lives had changed. Neither Peter nor I had been away from home since Kevin's disappearance. I could not contemplate the idea of travelling and gladly sent my employees instead.

"You're leaving for L.A.? When?" I tried to make my voice sound as natural as possible.

"My flight is scheduled tomorrow at eleven.

– That soon?

– You know how last minutes those trips can be."

They usually were. While I could delegate this responsibility to other members of my team, Peter didn't have that luxury.

"Do you want me to call Ian, and ask him to go instead?" Peter offered, sensing my hesitation. "He's familiar with the client; he could manage without me."

Ian had been working with Peter for years. I'm sure he would've understood and taken Peter's place in a second, but I couldn't let my husband do that. This was a part of getting our lives together. I needed to be supportive.

"No, no. Don't be silly. You need to be there.

– It will be a short trip, I promise." Peter reassured me. "I'll be on the first flight back on Sunday morning. You know I wouldn't miss Linnie's birthday."

Our daughter's birthday fell on Monday, but we had planned a nice family day and birthday dinner on Sunday. As I did not have the energy to host our traditional dinner party, we had made reservation at _Everest_ in downtown Chicago. I wished we had more to offer Linnie than French cuisine. She was such a good girl and never asked for anything. Peter wouldn't miss this for the world.

"You could ask your mother to stay over for the weekend." Peter suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter." I laughed, although I knew my mother would not object. "The kids and I will be fine. Don't worry."

He needed to hear me say everything would be fine as much I needed to say it. And things _would_ be fine. I had stayed by myself with the children numerous times, and regardless of what had happened over the holidays, Winnetka was a safe community. Chester was here, we had a brand new security system; we would be safe. I might not be able to sleep for the rest of the weekend, but everything would be _fine_.

Peter went upstairs to shower and change before Detective Wallace arrived. As every time we met with the private investigator, I felt my anxiety built. To calm myself and prepare for our meeting, I took out my notes and journals and went over them. After nearly five months, I wasn't sure what information we could've missed, but I went over everything as usual.

Our attorneys were the ones who had recommended Detective Wallace. Not many private detectives in Chicago had experience with abduction cases. Private investigators were usually hired to oversee missing person investigations; runaways, mental breakdowns, victims of crimes or accidents, not abductions.

Detective Wallace had more expertise, having been involved in no less than four cases of child abduction. All of his previous cases had been abductions by family members, which wasn't what had happened to Kevin, but all the children had safely been recovered. Peter and I both hoped he would be as successful with Kevin.

At two o'clock sharp, the detective knocked on our door. Detective Paul Wallace looked nothing like detectives portrayed in movies and old film noir. He didn't wear a trench coat, loose tie and hat; he preferred a black leather sport jacket over a plain turtleneck. He wasn't much taller than Peter, but maybe a tad older. The detective wasn't physically imposing but had penetrating grey eyes. I suspected him of dying his dark brown hair, as it didn't match his lighter short boxed beard.

We all sat down in the dining room where my mother had served coffee. Peter and Detective Wallace each had a cup. I didn't. Any more coffee would give me jitters. I didn't see my mother, but I knew she had retired to the family room to knit. She did not interact with Detective Wallace, but rarely missed a word he said.

Detective Wallace did not waste his breath with pleasantries. After taking a sip from his coffee, he dove right into our situation.

"I'm sorry that the tip in Maine hasn't yielded any result."

Detective Wallace had recently returned from Portland where he had investigated the spotting of a young boy fitting Kevin's description in company of a registered sex offender. After some questioning, the boy had turned out to be a local resident. I still wasn't sure if I should be relieved or disappointed by this conclusion. I would never want Kevin to find himself at the mercy of such depraved individuals, but had this been my son, I would've had him back.

"Do you have any new leads? Have you received any more tips?

– Kevin's case has attracted a lot of publicity. We received many tips, few grounded in facts. It takes time to process all the information."

Over the months, Detective Wallace had conducted background checks on several of our neighbors and members of our community. Even neighbors who had moved away from Winnetka over the past eighteen months had also not escaped Detective Wallace's scrutiny. He had also taken a closer look at thugs and any peeping tom reports across the Village, to no avail.

The Chicago and Winnetka police force had looked into most of these details as well, but not all of them. I therefore always made sure to send a copy of Detective Wallace's report to Detective Kincaid, out of courtesy. No matter how angry and frustrated I was at the police force, I wouldn't let my feelings ruin any chance of recovering Kevin. The more people that reviewed Kevin's file and the more chances of someone uncovering new links or information.

"What's the next step?" Peter calmly asked.

There was always a next step.

"I know we've been through this." Detective Wallace stated. "but I need you to think who might've have access to your house, or come into contact with Kevin."

This wasn't a new request. I had already given Detective Wallace a copy of the lists of names I had compiled for the police. Those lists outlined the names and contact information for all of our children's friends and teachers. When they failed to produce any results, Detective Wallace had asked me to expend my lists to anyone who might've met Kevin. This was easier said than done. I had worked diligently and tracked down everyone I could think of; camp counselors, my and Peter's friends, partners, and clients, people we had invited over for dinner over the past year.

I had racked my brain to recall every adult that could've have access to Kevin, including our family physician, dentist, optometrist, and cleaning agencies employees. Faced with all these potential suspects, I sometimes wanted to cry. I had never given much thought to whom we invited into our house. How could we be so careless! I loved playing the hostess and I had never considered how I might be endangering my own children.

"Has anyone ever taken an interest in Kevin? Asked questions about him or offered him sweets? Has your son ever told you someone made him uncomfortable?" the detective probed our memory.

There were many times when I didn't listen to Kevin's babbling, but surely I would've paid attention had he told me something like this. I would not have ignored such red flags.

"Mrs. Miller sometimes offers taffy to the children around Thanksgiving." I mentioned without conviction.

Detective Wallace added her name in his notes. I didn't think this information would lead to anything; Mrs. Miller had left Chicago, as she always did, in early December to spend winter in Florida with her sister.

"Please think, over the last year, what delivery service have you used? Around what time is your mail delivered? Would the mail carrier route cross the children's path on their way to or from school?" prompted Detective Wallace.

There was suddenly a sharp series of clanking and banging coming from the basement, stopping the Detective in his track. I had forgotten Mr. Lime and his partner were still at work.

"You're having work done around the house?" the detective asked.

"Yes, our furnace broke. We are having it replaced." I informed him.

He nodded his head, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Have you hired anyone else to replace or fix something? Tradesmen? Plumbers? Gardeners for your yard? Students to repaint or wash the windows?"

This time, Peter answered first:

"We've had the roof redone in autumn." he volunteered.

"If I could give the name of your contractor, I'll run a background check on whoever was assign to the job."

My husband quickly retrieved the contract from his office and handed it to the detective.

"I'll make a copy of this and have my assistant send it back to you."

I still marked the information in my own file, just in case.

"Is there anything else you remember?

"What about the burglars? What are you doing to find them?"

This wasn't the first time I had asked about the burglars. The police agreed that they were prime suspects in Kevin's abduction.

"They are on the top of my list, Mrs. McCallister." Detective Wallace assured me. "Finding burglars is… challenging. Your house was not an isolated target, your street was. This job must've been planned. I'm trying to figure what could've put your street on the burglars' radar, a link between you and your neighbors.

– Like gardeners?

– Well, given that the burglaries occurred during the holiday season, I would be more inclined to look at tradesmen first."

As I sat there, listening to Detective Wallace, all my doubts resurfaced. What if this was a false lead, as all the previous ones had been? What if there was no link? Where would we look next? Were we losing valuable time looking for clues that weren't there? What if the burglaries had been random acts? How would we ever find the perpetrators? I refused to lose hope, but I could feel myself edging closer to despair. How did one go about finding burglars? At this point, it could be anyone!

Detective Wallace did not drag on the meeting. After asking us a few more questions and going over his monthly expenses, Detective Wallace took his leave. While Peter wrote him a cheque to balance his account, I saw Buzz sitting at the top of the stairs, looking down on the Detective. He had a look of distrust on his face that echoed my own personal doubts; was all these efforts and money wasted? Was Kevin truly lost?

Those were questions I was not ready to acknowledge.

I heard a discreet knock on the dining room door and I turned around to see Mr. Lime poke his head.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. McCallister. I wanted to let you know we finished reattaching the plenum. We'll be back tomorrow to reconnect the-

– Harry Lime, is that you?" called Detective Wallace from the foyer.

Mr. Lime snapped around at the sound of his name and, for the first time since I met him, saw him lose his formal composure.

"Paul? What are you doing here?

– Talk about a small world!" marvelled Detective Wallace. "The McCallisters hired you and Marv to change their furnace?"

"You two… know each other?" Peter enquired.

Detective Wallace is the one who answered smiling broadly:

"Yes, and you were right to call Harry and Marv to fix your furnace. They're no crooks like other guys."

Mr. Lime did not respond to the complement. If anything, I would say he looked troubled.

"You know, one of Harry's brothers is on the Chicago police force." Detective Wallace added.

I nodded, remembering how Mr. Lime had mentioned it himself.

"You talked to Sid?

– Yeah, your brother's a good sport. He's not the kind of detective to feel threatened by a P.I." Turning to Peter and I, Detective Wallace added: "Harry's brother debriefed me on your son's case when I first took it. He also gave me some info on your burglars.

– Wait, they hired _you_ to look for the kid?" Mr. Lime enquired, looking startled.

"Terrible story, Harry." Detective Wallace confirmed gravely. "I'm sure you must've heard.

– Me and the rest of the world. Well I won't bother you…"

Mr. Lime tried to retire as gracefully as possible, but Detective Wallace wasn't done.

"What have you and Marv been up to lately? We never see you around anymore.

– Oh, you know, work…"

I was obvious Mr. Lime did not want to play catch up with an old friend in front of his clients.

"Why don't you drop by the Gold Star for a game or two of pool, it's been too long." Detective Wallace suggested. "And tell Marv he owns me a rematch.

– Sure thing, Paul. We'll talk later. Mrs. McCallister, we'll see you tomorrow."

When Mr. Lime left, Detective Wallace turned his attention back to Peter and me.

"You won't regret hiring Harry and Marv; I know their reputation, they work well."

At this point, I did not doubt Mr. Lime and his partner's abilities, but it was still reassuring to hear a third party praise their work.

"They were recommended by a friend of our daughter's." Peter added, his expression softening.

"Glad to hear their reputation is expending all over Winnetka. There are too many tradesmen and handy men looking out to rip their clients. You have to watch out for those. Harry and Marv, you can trust. They're real stand up guys."

How I regretted my initial doubts upon discovering them on my doorstep on Monday morning! As I closed the door behind Detective Wallace, I was overtaken with this feeling. This unexplained feeling I sometimes had.

There was something. Something important. Something I had overlooked. What was it? Something Detective Wallace had said. It was just _there_ , standing on the edge of my consciousness, staring at me. What was it! The more I focused on what it was, the more it eluded me.

I furrowed my brow, and my eyes darted around the foyer without seeing anything.

"Kate, you look pale." Peter interrupted my train of thoughts.

Our meeting with Detective Wallace always drained me, but this wasn't the reason for my turmoil. What was _it_! Whatever I was looking for, it was gone. I could've screamed in frustration.

"I'm all right, but tired." I reassured Peter.

I was trying too hard, the thought escaped me. I'm sure whatever I was looking for would come back to me in time. There were other pressing matters to discuss. Lifting my eyes to the top of the stairs, I saw that Buzz was still sitting there, petting Chester, watching us. I took a deep breath.

"Peter, can we talk?"

Trying to lighten the mood, I smiled weakly:

"Oh, and you'll never guess what Mrs. Merchants found in the air ducts today."

 _AN:_

 _Fun facts about tarantulas, did you know they could go up to 2 years without food? And that although Buzz refers to Axl as male, the one in the movie was actually female?_

 _Those thoughts about going through Kate's mind were facts I found on missing children's site. I was surprised to see how many of them applied to Home Alone:_

 _Harry rousing Kevin's suspicion upon meeting him;_

 _Kevin meeting the wet bandits practically in front of his house;_

 _The abduction occurring in the middle of a burglary._

 _It all fits and I'm so happy it does!_


	10. All About Family

_Hello dear readers!_

 _Here is the final scene outlining Harry and Marv's work at the McCallisters! I hope it was well worth the wait!_

 _To answer's Loco14 question, Harry and Marv did no leave for Canada because of Detective Wallace. They were already planning to leave since Sid's visit. Detective Wallace doesn't have any reason to suspect them, but it is an additional incentive to get out of town._

 _To answer Morticialover's question regarding the picture Marv took of Kevin, much more will be revealed on that subject in the "No Monster" side of the story, so I won't spoil anything. Kevin has however repeatedly remarked on the interest Charlie has taken in him, which is why he suspects Harry would've sent him the pictures._

 _As for sending the pictures to the McCallister, although it would make for a chilling discovery, it would prove very unwise of Harry and Marv. Their plan is to disappear, not to torture or take revenge on the McCallisters. They are not interested in revenge; they have no reason to want revenge. The only thing they want is for the world to forget about Kevin so as not to end up in jail. Many people, including the police, have come to believe that Kevin is dead, which suits Harry and Marv perfectly. Sending any pictures to the McCallister would revive the investigation and the news coverage. They don't need that kind of heat. If they want to make their little "family" work, then it is in their interest not to draw attention to themselves or Kevin. Hope this helps clarify their intentions!_

All about family

 _May 17, 1991_

The moment I stepped into the kitchen, I sensed there was a problem. The silence is what gave it away. The children had gathered for breakfast, but none of them was talking. The only sound that disrupted the silence was the morning cartoons no one was watching.

Still in his pajamas, Jeff had taken all the cereal boxes out of the pantry and lined them up on the counter; bowl in hand, he was staring at them without moving. Buzz was emptying the dishwasher with a disgruntled look on his face. Linnie was sitting at the table with her morning glass of Nestle Quick strawberry milk, but her eyes were glossed over, lost in space. Megan was packing slices of cheese and apples for the lunches while sipping a cup of what I hoped was hot chocolate. Was I projecting or was Chester sulking under the table?

It had been like this ever since Peter had told them about his business trip. Those trips used to be such an integrated part of our lives, Peter and I had decided not to make a big deal of out of this one. Last night, he had waited until the end of dinner to inform the kids that he would be gone for a few days. They had not taken the news well. I suppose it was our fault, we should've known better than to spring this information on them without warning.

"You're going to L.A.? Now?" Megan had repeated, looking at her father in disbelief.

"When are you coming back?" Linnie had questioned in a small voice.

"Why can't someone else go? You're the boss, why can't you send someone else?" Jeff had objected with uncharacteristic stubbornness.

Buzz, picking at his food, had remained silent.

"Guys, guys, it's a two day trip." Peter had tried to downplay the whole thing. "I'll be back Sunday, I promise. You won't even know I'm gone."

That's when Buzz had loudly dropped his fork on his plate.

"We're not dumb, Dad." he had said, sitting back in his chair to glare at his father. "When someone's not there, we notice."

I had watched Peter's carefully built up confidence crumble before my eyes.

"Buzz, I didn't mean…"

But Buzz had already left the table. We had not seen him for the rest of the evening. His siblings hadn't said anything else, but had looked close to tears.

After that debacle with the children, it had taken a good part of the evening to ease Peter's guilty conscience. The late hour had finally dissuaded him from calling one of his colleagues to take over for him.

"No wonder Buzz is angry with me; He's right, I'm never around." Peter had declared as he undressed for the night.

"Don't say that.

– Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?

– No, it's not, and you know it." I had responded, closing our bedroom door for privacy.

"Know? You want to hear what I know, Kate?" he had said, kicking his pants off. "I know that the moment we sat down on that plane, _you_ knew there was something wrong. Not me, _you_!"

Peter's outburst left me feeling powerless. Everything always circled back to _that_ day, to _that_ moment. If anything, the passage of time had made Peter angrier.

"Peter…

– All I wanted" he continued "was to relax, have a nice holiday, and forget about everything. And I did! I didn't think about Kevin, not for _one_ second. If it weren't for you, we would've noticed he was missing until..."

Disgusted with himself, Peter hadn't finished his sentence. He had sat on the bed, his back to me.

"I'm not a man, I'm a joke."

Until that moment, I had not considered how Peter could've read that moment on the plane. I hadn't had time to give that overwhelming feeling of dread much thought. One thing I however knew for sure was that this premonition, or whatever it was, didn't make me a better parent than Peter. It hadn't changed anything. It had come too late. It had not saved Kevin.

"How can I ask my clients to trust me with their money when I couldn't look after my own son?"

I had never heard Peter talk this way. Peter was born to be stockbroker. He was knowledgeable, and trusted his guts. Making quick decisions, analysing and adapting a strategy in a matter of seconds, Peter thrived on the adrenaline rush. I had not realized how Kevin's kidnapping had shaken his self-confidence.

I had sat next to my husband and leaned against him.

"Clarkson would not have asked you to go to L.A. if he didn't think you could be trusted." I had reminded Peter.

Arthur Clarkson had been Peter's mentor for years. The man had pushed, encouraged and guided Peter throughout his career; He was probably the reason Peter had risen to the position of partner in their firm. Did I resent Arthur for sending my husband to L.A.? Yes, I'll admit I did. But I also knew that choosing Peter over anybody else to overview this merger was a mark of confidence. In his own way, Clarkson _was_ trying to help.

"Well, if there's one thing the old bastard knows I'm good at, it's making money." Peter had smiled bitterly.

My husband had adopted a more cynical approach to money ever since Kevin's disappearance. When the police had failed to find our son or identify any suspect, we had naturally turned to money for answers. A reward had sounded like the quickest and safest way to get Kevin back. Although we had yet to receive any ransom note, Pete and I had hoped the promise of money would be all the encouragement the kidnappers needed to manifest themselves. A phone call, a letter, anything, as long as we established contact. Their silence had baffled us.

There really were some things money couldn't buy.

"We'll be all right, Peter." I had reassured him as best I could. "The kids and I, we'll miss you, but we'll be right here when you come back."

Peter had not answered. I'm not sure he had heard me. We had gone to bed, only to lay in silence next to one another, unable to sleep.

As I considered the children in the kitchen that morning, I wondered if anyone had slept that night. The next few days would be hard, but the next trip would be easier, or so I made myself believe.

Peter had not come down yet; he was still upstairs, packing. The last thing I wanted was for him to find everyone upset. Trying to forget how tired I was, I walked into the kitchen.

"Jeff, what are you doing? Put those cereals away.

– I haven't decided which one I want yet!

– You always end up having Froot Loops." Linnie retorted.

Jeff mumbled in disagreement, but slowly carried the boxes back to the pantry. Walking past Megan to help her with the lunches, I saw my earlier suspicions confirmed.

"Is that coffee? I don't think so." I said, taking the cup away from her.

"Mom!" she protested. "I'm old enough to have coffee."

"Wait till you go to college." I replied, taking a sip from the cup.

I almost spat it out. How much honey did she put in it, the entire pot? Shaking my head, I emptied the cup in the sink. Opening our refrigerator, I grabbed the cold pasta salad my mother had prepared for the lunches.

"Has Chester been outside?

– Yeah, I took him out." Buzz informed me, wiping a few glasses dry before putting them away. "The furnace guys are here.

– Mr. Lime is already here? He's early. Was his partner with him?"

I saw a smile creep back on Buzz's face.

"Yeah, he's here. They said they should be done by noon."

I might not like Mr. Merchants much, but I had to admire his work ethics; many contractors would have refused to set foot in our house after a memorable encounter with a tarantula and a confrontation with my mother.

"Did you know Chester follows those guys around everywhere? I had to hold him back till they went in the basement." Buzz frowned. "It's weird.

– Mr. Lime mentioned something about a cat…" I replied, filling bowls of salad for the kids.

"It's still weird." Buzz commented, looking at Chester.

Chester's interest in the handymen had not waned over the week. I had no idea what was attracting Chester to those two men and I didn't have time to ponder that question. I had more immediate concerns.

"It's Friday, anyone want popcorn in their lunch?" I suggested. "Or pretzels? Jeff, Linnie, do you want pretzels?

– Sure." Linnie replied. Jeff merely shrugged.

While I prepared bags of pretzels, a tensed silence fell back on the kitchen. I didn't look at the children right away, trying to decide what I would say. What do you tell your children in these circumstances? Life goes on? How could I say that? It sounded so cold.

"Okay, look; I know you're not happy about your father leaving this weekend." I began. "But he doesn't want to take this trip any more than you.

– Why is he going?" Jeff argued, munching unhappily on a handful of Froot Loops.

"Because that's his job, Jeff." Buzz replied drily as he closed the dishwasher.

The children were old enough to understand that their father wasn't placing his career ahead of them. I however worried they might perceive this business trip as a means for Peter to escape. Most importantly, I didn't want them to be angry with their father, or resent him for leaving.

"Your father does what he has to do, Jeff." I explained. "One day, you'll have a job and you'll have to do a lot of things you don't want to.

– Not if I'm the boss." Jeff muttered under his breath.

"You'd be surprised. I don't want you to give your father a hard time. He loves you all very much, and going to L.A. was not his idea.

– But, Mom; what if… What if something happens while he's away?" Linnie asked.

I felt the tension in the kitchen rise. She hadn't said it, but we all knew what Linnie had meant; what if the police found Kevin? I didn't answer right away. It's not as if the idea had not crossed my mind, or Peter's; God, he would never forgive himself if he weren't home the second Kevin was found. But we couldn't organise our lives around what ifs.

"Your father won't be gone for long." I evaded the question.

"But what if-

– _If_ something happens, he'll be on the first plane back." I said firmly. "This trip is important. Let's show your father he has no reason to worry; no more frowning, okay?"

The children looked at each other, unsure, but I could sense a shift in their mood. When Peter came down a few minutes later, I was proud of the way they all made an effort to act natural. Jeff filled his cereal bowl; Megan sat down to read the morning paper and Buzz busied himself making toasts for himself and Linnie. The children's activity around the kitchen didn't fool Peter, though.

Maybe it was out of guilt, or maybe it was simply to keep busy until it was time for him to leave, but Peter suddenly announced:

"You know what? Jeff, throw those cereals away. No toasts, no cereals." he declared, tossing the toasts over to Chester who happily gulped them down. "I'm making pancakes."

Peter would usually save pancakes for Sunday mornings and I understood this was his way of trying to make amends for leaving.

"Your chocolate cinnamon roll pancakes?" Linnie asked hopefully.

"Why not? With ice cream!" Peter decided, looking my way, waiting for me to object.

I didn't say a word. Peter had not made breakfast in months. And we could all use a little pick me up this morning.

"Pancakes with ice cream?" Megan repeated. "Are you serious?

– Why not? Nothing wrong with an extra special breakfast. It's Friday.

– I think it sounds delicious." I approved, giving Peter my blessing for this unconventional breakfast.

Without seeming too, I was waiting for Buzz's reaction. As the elder, he could sway his siblings one way or the other. Would we earn ourselves another snippy comeback, or would he play along? Buzz didn't react right away. He looked at his father for a while until he came to a decision and, to my relief, took the ice cream out of the freezer. Peter's last minute breakfast might be what our family needed this morning.

As my husband tied his apron to protect his shirt, Peter discreetly took me to the side:

"Kate, I can't find my suitcase. It's not in the closet; have you seen it?

– Damn, it's in the basement."

I usually kept the suitcases upstairs, so they wouldn't smell. Upon our return from France, Peter and I had been too busy with the police interviews that my mother and Leslie had unpacked our bags and had put our suitcases away in the basement. It had completely slipped my mind.

"You take care of the pancakes, I'll get it."

I made my way to the basement, careful to close the door behind me to keep Chester from sneaking past me. I had not been downstairs all week. My eyes were drawn to our brand new gas furnace. It was a sleek grey model that sat where our old gravity furnace used to be. Now that it was gone, our basement looked less cluttered.

I didn't mind Mr. Lime or his partner right away; they were half hidden by the furnace, busy aligning copper threads. I couldn't see Mr. Merchants crouching behind the furnace, but his tone capture my attention:

"Would you tell him to _stop_ calling." he spat, his voice full of loathing.

"You don't mean that, Marv. I'd be more worried if Sid didn't call.

– Did you tell him he could go fuck himself?

– Yeah, I told him you said ʻhiʼ; he knows what that means.

– How can you be so calm? Sid's making fun of us, he should've warned us about- Damn it, don't move!

– Got it, Marv?

– Yeah; give me the other wrench before the TFE paste dries up."

I didn't want to intrude in their conversation and tactfully bid them good morning. As a result, Mr. Lime practically sprung forward, abandoning the copper tread he had been holding.

"Mrs. McCallister, can we help you?"

From behind the furnace came an angry hiss as the copper thread fell to the floor.

"Is your partner all right?

– He's fine; don't worry about him. You shouldn't be down here; we haven't cleaned up yet.

– Oh, don't mind me, I was looking for our suitcase." I said, motioning to the corner where our suitcases were piled.

Even from where I was standing, I could see how dusty our suitcases were. There was no way Peter could pack his business suits in there.

"Can you give us about half an hour? We'll take the suitcases outside and clean them with our shop vac." Mr. Lime suggested, reading my expression.

"You would? Thank you!" I replied with gratitude. "I just need one suitcase.

– You're taking a trip?

– My husband is. He's leaving to L.A. this morning." I explained.

"L.A? Is this about little your boy?"

My smile faltered at the mention of Kevin, but I quickly pulled myself together.

"No. This is a business trip. He is meeting with new clients in L.A."

Mr. Lime smiled in sympathy.

"Oh, I'm sorry; I thought that my friend Paul would've brought you some good news yesterday.

– Not… Not yet."

I couldn't bring myself to say "no", even if it was the truth. It was too definitive. I had to keep on believing that, at any moment, Detective Wallace or the police would make a breakthrough in Kevin's abduction case.

"Well I'm sure it's a matter of time." Mr. Lime assured me. "Don't worry about your suitcase; we'll take care of it."

I thanked him again and returned to the kitchen, still shaken by the mention of Kevin. I took heart upon seeing how Peter's initiative had won the kids over. My husband had taken care of the batter and the first batch of pancakes was already cooking on the red-hot skillet. Megan was busy with the frosting and Linnie had taken charge of the cinnamon swirl mix. As our in-house pancake expect, Peter would draw the cinnamon swirls in each pancake, but he would let Jeff add as many chocolate chips as he liked. Buzz was responsible of the timer, flipping the pancakes after a few minutes and putting them in the oven to keep them warm.

It had been a long time since we had done anything as a family. It felt good to see our kitchen bask in such a warm and loving atmosphere. Linnie and Jeff smiled shyly at each other as they dove in the chocolate chips bag while Buzz and Megan bickered over the thickness of the frosting.

Savouring this unexpected moment of intimacy, I cut some fruits to complete our breakfast. We hadn't had a nice family moment since… I couldn't remember. I didn't search my memory too hard; I didn't want to ruin the moment.

When the pancakes were ready, Peter prepared each of our plate, adding a generous portion of ice cream. As usual, my husband had made too many pancakes, but it would give something the kids to fight over tomorrow morning.

It wasn't until we all sat down that the mood shifted again and silence settled around the table. It always did. We could avoid looking at the empty chair on my right all we wanted, we were all still painfully aware of its presence. The feeling always caught up with us, no matter where we ate, at the kitchen table, the dining room table or in restaurants. It sometimes felt that Kevin's absence was more noticeable whenever we were all together.

The pancakes we shared that morning were particularly tasty, or perhaps it was my mood playing tricks on me. We ate mostly in silence, but it was a comfortable one. A moment of peace in what was otherwise a nightmare.

All good things must come to an end. As reluctant as we all were to interrupt this family moment, it was still a weekday. Megan was the first leave the table.

"Go get dressed, Jeff. We'll be leaving soon." she reminded him, taking his empty plate with hers to the sink.

And just like that, breakfast was over. Peter was probably as unwilling as I was to see the children go and told them:

"No need to rush; I'll drive you to school."

Peter and I had taken the habit of driving the kids around, even over short distances. This might have also been his way of delaying the moment to say good-bye.

Jeff went upstairs; Megan grabbed the lunch boxes and carried them to the front door. As the only one in no hurry, Buzz helped me clean up and do the dishes. Before heading upstairs as well, Linnie went to her father and hugged him.

"Thanks for breakfast, Dad. Your pancakes are the best."

Linnie must've sensed how much Peter needed that hug. Especially this morning. She had always been the sensitive one in the family. For the brief duration of their hug, I saw Peter's sorrow lift. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed as he hugged her back.

"Anytime, sweetheart."

I had to admire the way Linnie had boosted his confidence effortlessly. She was growing up to be such a lady.

Peter had finished staking the leftover pancakes on a plate when Mr. Merchants gave a courtesy knock on the door and entered the kitchen, carrying Peter's suitcase with him.

"Here, as good as new!"

As usual, Chester went straight at him, but Mr. Merchants was ready and used the suitcase to block our dog's path. Rolling his eyes, Buzz called Chester over.

"Chester, you wanna go for a walk?"

Whatever interest Chester had in Mr. Merchants, it was no match for the promise of a walk. Tail wagging, he went to Buzz without a second glance at the man.

"If Chester likes your partner cause he's got a cat, what's your excuse?" Buzz remarked with a mocking smile.

"Buzz, you're being rude." I reprimanded him.

"What? It's weird, Mom!" Buzz argued. "Do all dogs act this way around you?

– No." the man grumbled. "Maybe there's something wrong with your dog, ever thought of that?"

Scratching Chester's ears, Buzz smirked back, unimpressed.

"Whatever. I'll be outside."

I could practically feel Mr. Merchants' frustration built. What must he be thinking? After what had happened yesterday, he must have a terrible opinion of our family! He turned to leave and I must've channeled my mother for a moment, because the next thing I knew, I presented him the plate of our leftover pancakes.

"We made too many pancakes; would you and Mr. Lime like some?"

Mr. Merchants considered the plate, not exactly frowning, but not accepting it either.

"You made pancakes? I only have pancakes on the weekend." was his hesitant response.

"So do we, but my husband decided to treat us to a Friday morning special."

After careful considerations, Mr. Merchants agreed to have some pancakes.

"Maybe we'll have one or two." he conceded.

Ignoring Peter's intrigued expression, I wrapped a few pancakes in foil.

"What kind of pancakes are those? Chocolate chip pancakes?

– Chocolate cinnamon roll pancakes, actually. My specialty." Peter specified.

"Chocolate cinnamon roll? That sounds… complicated.

– It's not that hard. Here, take a look" Peter lent him his worn cooking magazine.

"Wow, I bet your kids love that recipe!" Mr. Merchants remarked, admiring the picture of a delicious-looking pancake dripping with sugary frosting.

Peter's chocolate cinnamon roll pancakes were more than the kids' favourite, it was practically a family classic. Back when we were still dating, Peter had decided to impress me with his cooking skills by inviting me over for brunch and making these pancakes.

It had turned out to be a complete disaster! Peter had not mastered the timing of the recipe, or the best way to incorporate the cinnamon mix to the batter. The fact that we had both been busy making out might also explain our failed brunch. Most of the pancakes had been burned, while others had been so runny they wouldn't hold together. We had laughed ourselves silly and had ended up buying bagels and croissants from a nearby pastry shop.

This first failed attempt had not stopped Peter from trying the recipe again, and again, and again, until he had mastered it. I saw those pancakes as a testament to his determination.

"Do you have any kids of your own?" Peter asked out of politeness.

"Yeah. A little boy. He loves chocolate.

– They all do." Peter sadly replied.

Intrigued, I raised my eyes to look at Mr. Merchants as he studied the recipe. I could've sworn he had told me he didn't have any children. Had I misunderstood him? I didn't want to draw attention to this fact; how could I fault him for not discussing his personal life with clients?

"Can I borrow this?" then asked Mr. Merchants. "I'll copy it down real quick."

For some reason, the request irked me. I didn't want to give him the recipe, but I could not come up with a reason to refuse. And why would I? This recipe wasn't a family secret, and those pancakes were Peter's specialty, not mine! Fighting my uneasiness, I handed him the pancakes in foil.

"Sure, no problem."

For once, my conversation with Mr. Merchants had not ended on a sour note, so why was I… not exactly worried, but uncomfortable?

"What was _that_ about?" Peter enquired as soon as Mr. Merchants had gone back to the basement. "Since when do you feed the help?

– I don't know." I shrugged. "I felt bad for the man. And he did find Axl.

– At the rate we're paying him, you have no reason to feel bad.

– Well, we had too many pancakes anyway."

I didn't share my disquieting feelings with Peter. Maybe this didn't have anything to do with Mr. Merchants. It was this business trip; it was stressing me more than I was willing to admit. Yes, that was probably it. I wished Peter had already left. The sooner he left, the sooner he would be back.

I pushed these feelings to the side and put on my smile as the time came to see the children off to school. Peter suggested I could come along for the ride, but I declined his offer. It was his time with the children. Beside, someone had to stay in case Mr. Lime and his partner needed something.

After my usual round of hugs and kisses, I stood by the driveway with Buzz and Chester, waving the children goodbye. Whining at our feet, Chester pulled on his leash.

"Yeah, yeah, we're going." Buzz told him, walking down the driveway after the car.

"Don't go too far!"

Even from the distance, I heard my son's faint groan as he turned around:

"Mom…

– Buzz, please. You know how I worry."

He sighed, shaking his head:

"Fine, I won't go to the park, I'll stay in the neighborhood.

– Thank you."

But I don't think he heard me as he jogged down the street, Chester bouncing at this side.

I was then left alone.

It was funny; a few months ago, I would've given anything to have a quiet evening or morning all to myself; no kids, no employees, a moment of silence to unwind. And now… Silence had taken over my whole existence, but I was incapable of relaxing.

Feeling restless, I took Peter's suitcase upstairs. When I saw that he had left the suits and clothes neatly folded on our bed, I decided to surprise him by packing his suitcase for him. I didn't normally pack his things, but it would be my way of thanking him for breakfast. I folded his suits and strapped them in place with his polished shoes; I also gathered his toiletries bag, making sure he had not forgotten anything. It kept my mind and hands busy for a while.

After packing and double-checking everything one last time, I removed my Claddagh ring and placed it lovingly on top of Peter's clothes. It was our good luck tradition; I would give Peter my Claddagh ring when he went on a business trip and he would let me hold on to his Booth school of business graduation ring when I was away from home. It felt important to keep up this tradition, now more than ever. A reminder of my love.

When I was done, I took the suitcase back downstairs and left it by the door. Before giving my morning call to work, I sat at the piano and pressed a few keys. I didn't play, probably never would, but testing the keys was a habit I had adopted recently. It somehow made me feel closer to Kevin when I did.

Peter returned home before Buzz did. When I saw him come through the door, I congratulated myself on listening to my instincts. It wasn't ten o'clock, but he looked exhausted. As weary as he was, Peter spotted his suitcase by the door.

"You packed my suitcase?"

I smiled, but didn't mention the ring. I wanted it to be a surprise when he would unpack his suitcase tonight. Instead, noticing the bags he was carrying, I replied:

"You went to the grocery store?

– We ran out of a few things making breakfast. Eggs, milk… I thought I would pick up some up for you and the kids before I left."

That, I reflected, was exactly the reason I had fallen in love with Peter. He was full of little attentions. He didn't have to go to the grocery store, but he had taken the time to go.

We took the bags into the kitchen and I saw in passing that Peter's cooking magazine had been left on the counter. I assumed Mr. Merchants had copied down the pancake recipe and, in the back of my mind, my feeling of uneasiness flared-up.

"How did it go with the kids?" I asked Peter as much to forget about Mr. Merchants as to engage my husband.

"Fine, I think. They didn't cry, or looked angry.

– They're not angry, Peter. They're just… taking it one step at the time."

I didn't know how else to explain it. In the span of a few months, our family had forgotten how to react and apprehend everyday situations. All this uncertainty made normal felt… alien.

"Is Buzz back?

– Not yet. He shouldn't be too long. I told him not to go far."

I thought Peter might remark on this, but he simply nodded.

"Good, I want to talk with him before I leave. You know, man to man."

Peter wasn't specific, but I knew he wanted to discuss the PGC letter with Buzz. Given how last night's dinner had ended, Peter had been in no frame of mind to sit down with our eldest son. I don't think Buzz would've been very receptive either.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?

– Yes, I'd rather resolve this today. Sunday will be Linnie's day and I don't want to wait too long."

No sooner had Peter finished his sentence that we heard the front door open. "Mom? Dad? I'm back.

– Wish me luck." Peter smiled weakly.

"You'll do fine." I reassured him with a quick kiss.

I was glad Peter had not postponed this conversion to next week, but I hoped it wouldn't leave him too distraught right before his trip; he needed to save some energy for his meeting.

I finished putting the groceries away and, guessing that Peter and Buzz would be in the living room, headed for the solarium. I did not want to force my presence on them; I had already said all I had to say yesterday. Besides, ganging up on Buzz would do no good. I therefore turned my attention back to my files, all the while keeping an ear out for raised voices or shouting. As the minutes passed and there was no explosion, I slowly allowed myself to relax.

I'm not sure how long their conversation lasted. A few minutes? An hour? After my daily conversation with my assistant, I looked at my watch and realised how late it was. Peter would be leaving soon and I wanted to make sure we had time to talk before he left. Unsure if his conversation with Buzz was over, I cautiously left the solarium.

I found Peter in the living room, alone, except for Chester, asleep on the carpet. My husband was sitting in the chair next to the fireplace, looking at Kevin's tree in silence. I did not interpret this as a good sign.

"How did it go?"

Peter's brow creased.

"I'm not sure. Not bad. But… I don't know."

Buzz had always been easy to read. Peter should've been able to have a better feel of his opinion. I wasn't sure what to make of this change in behaviour.

"Where's Buzz?

– In his room. He mentioned something about a geography assignment."

I waited for Peter to give me more details, but he remained silent.

"Do you think he'll change his mind about the summer camps?

– He didn't say. He didn't say much, but… he listened."

That's not what I wanted to hear; Buzz was too quiet. Unlike Linnie; he had never been the cerebral type and being in his mind couldn't be a good sign.

"Let's let him sleep on it for a while." Peter suggested.

I did not disagree. Pushing too hard with Buzz could backfire. I hoped our son wasn't humouring us the same way we were humouring him.

"You tried, Peter." I wrapped my arms across his shoulder. "There's always next year..."

I had no idea how our family would make it through the summer, let alone another year. Whenever I thought about the future, I felt faint. I refused to believe we would not have back Kevin by then. It was… unconceivable.

I was trying not to envision a future without Kevin and I was caught completely off-guard by Peter's bitter reply:

"Damn it, Kate; this is a great opportunity for Buzz. When I was his age, I would've…" Peter didn't finish his sentence.

I took my arms off his shoulder to better look at him. Back when he was Buzz's age, Peter would've been over the moon at the opportunity to attend any sport camp. Our circumstances were not usual, and I couldn't blame Buzz for not wanting to go. I didn't say it, but I'm sure Peter would've felt the same way had any of his brothers gone missing.

To my surprise, Peter said without preamble:

"Kate, we have to get rid of that tree."

I knew Peter meant the Christmas tree, but I couldn't stop myself from repeating stupidly:

"The tree?

– Yes, Kate." he replied almost impatiently. "That tree has got to go."

I had not looked at the tree in our living room in a long time. The once green Christmas tree had turned an ugly reddish brown color. The color of dried blood. It had lost many of its needles and some of its branches were so limp they could no longer hold their ornaments, which had fallen to the floor. That tree was dead all right, but that wasn't the point.

I had to sit down. I found the sofa behind me and let myself fall into it.

"Peter, I don't think-

– We have to get rid of it. It's time." Peter said, this time more gently.

I hated that tree. We both did.

But it was Kevin's tree.

Most of the time, I didn't look at it or acknowledged its presence, but that did not mean I was ready to take it down. I tried to stir the conversation away from the tree.

"What does that have to do with Buzz?

"Kate… Don't you see? Buzz won't go to camp because he thinks we can't take care of things here."

Well that was ridiculous, I told myself. And yet, I did not laugh. I did not crack a smile.

"He said that?" I asked calmly so as not to betray how hurt I was by this reproach.

"Not in so many words, no. But he won't leave, or go to camp while we… need him."

Need him! Why, he was just a child! I thought furiously. Peter and I were perfectly capable of handling everything. We always had, hadn't we?

But then little flashes, glimpses here and there of the past few months crept back in my memory. Buzz going over invoices, writing cheques for us to sign; Megan sorting and making laundry, reminding me what day of the week it was; Buzz reviewing Jeff and Linnie's homework, signing report cards; Megan waking up before everybody, making grocery list.

So maybe we _had_ been distracted, I reasoned. And maybe we had not been paying enough attention to the kids, but that was only because we were focussed on finding Kevin. We were family; I appreciated the children's sense of initiative in this time of need. Had it been too much? Did Megan feel the same way?

I'm not sure what I found more hurtful; the fact that Buzz had brought up the matter with his father instead of me, or that Peter agreed with him.

"Do you think he's right?"

When Peter spoke, he didn't outright answer my question.

"When I dropped the kids off this morning, I asked them if they wanted anything special from L.A. You wanna know what Linnie said?"

– Not a doll?" I guessed.

"She asked for a new Christmas tree ornament."

That request went straight to my heart. Peter and I would usually bring back Christmas tree ornaments from our business trips; it had however always been at Kevin's request, not Linnie's. I closed my eyes a moment, imagining how Peter must've felt when our little girl had given him her answer.

"For Kevin." Peter, for some reason, felt the need to clarify. "She asked me to bring him back an ornament."

It was the smallest things, or souvenirs, that could bring me to my knees. I stared at Chester asleep on the carpet, envying him his peace of mind.

"Kate, what would Kevin say if he came back and saw that thing in the living room?" I dimly heard Peter ask. "Do you think it would move him?"

Without waiting for my reply, he answered his own question:

"No, it wouldn't, Kate. He would simply wonder why there was a dead tree in the house."

Peter didn't need to say that. We didn't keep the tree for Kevin's benefit. The Christmas tree had never been about our son coming home. It was a reminder of our failure. Getting rid of that tree would be letting go of our mistake. I couldn't. I refused to move past the biggest mistake of my life, not until I had Kevin back in my arms.

"What do you want me to say, Peter? That's I'm sorry? That it was my fault?" I said angrily, holding back my tears.

Sensing my distress, Peter came to sit next to me, taking my hands into his.

"Kate, that's _not_ what I'm saying. I'm saying it's time we stopped torturing ourselves.

– You think it's easy? That I can turn it off anything I want? I'm _always_ thinking about Kevin!

– So am I. I didn't say we should stop caring, we never will. But this," Peter said, motioning to the tree, "is not caring."

My mind saw the truth in Peter's words, but my heart said a different story. Wasn't my pain a proof of how much I cared? If I allowed myself to heal, to forgive myself, wasn't I, in a way, letting Kevin go?

I didn't know what to do anymore. Obviously, I wanted that tree gone, but I couldn't. The Christmas tree also marked the passage of time. As long as we kept that tree in our living room, I could delude myself into thinking that not so much time had passed. The seasons outside my window didn't mean anything; in this living room, it was always Christmas. Kevin would be back any day and everything would be back to normal.

But now, I had no choice but to recognize that the months had come and gone. A month in the life of a child was like a lifetime and it now had been four, almost five months, since someone had broken into our home and taken my son away. One hundred and forty-four days to be exact. How had all this time affected Kevin? How deep would his trauma be? Did he know we were looking for him? What if he had given up? And most terrifying of all, what if Kevin had stop… asking for me?

"I thought we would've had Kevin back by now." I whispered. "Peter, it's been so long…

– I know. We are doing all we can and we _will_ get him back, Kate. But we have four other children that _need_ us right _now_. We can't keep… living in the past. It's unhealthy, for us and the kids."

By bringing up the children, Peter had found my one weakness; the one argument I couldn't dismiss. The tree was my punishment; it wasn't fair to drag the children in my misery.

"I just… I don't think the kids should come back from school and find the tree is gone." I faltered.

I knew the tree would have to go eventually; I had not wrapped my mind around taking it down or out with the trash.

"I'm not asking you to take it down this second. But we have to take control over our lives."

I gave a sardonic laugh, which made Peter cringe.

"And you think we can do that by getting rid of a tree?

– No." he answered truthfully. "but it will show the kids we're trying. Things have to go back to normal around here.

– Normal? Peter, there is no normal. Not anymore" I said, facing him.

It was Peter's turn to lower his eyes. He pressed my hands in his, a gesture I did not return. After a moment of silence, Peter let go of me and walked over to the tree. I watched him as he removed an ornament.

"One step at the time, Kate. That's all we can do." he said, handing me the ornament.

One step at the time.

The rhythm that now governed our life.

The ornament was a small teddy bear; one of Megan's favourite back, when she had been Kevin's age. I accepted it, expecting myself to cry. When no tears came, I raised my eyes to meet Peter's equally sad gaze. I saw he was as torn as I was over this. I almost felt guilty for putting him in this position.

"I'll… get the boxes from the basement." I finally answered, letting Peter know I was fine.

"Are you sure?

– Yes. You're right. It's time."

Peter was about to say something when we heard someone clear his throat. Peter and I both looked up and saw Mr. Lime standing in the foyer.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know we're done."

I had forgotten he and his partner were still here.

"Thank you, Mr. Lime. Let me grab my cheque book." I said, rising from the sofa, still clutching the teddy bear ornament.

Mr. Lime gave me a funny look I did not know how to interpret until he said:

"Don't you want to take a look at the furnace first? Go over how it works, where the emergency switch is, that sort of thing?"

Had I not been feeling so rattled by my conversation with Peter, I would've blushed. Obviously, we would inspect their work and go over the final details with Mr. Lime before handing him the cheque.

"We'll be down in a moment." Peter answered.

We waited until Mr. Lime had disappeared around the corner to resume our exchange:

"Are you okay, Kate?"

Neither of us were in the mood for a crash course on furnaces, but it could not be helped. I squared my shoulder and looked at Peter.

"Yes, let's get this over with.

– I meant the tree, not the furnace.

– I know and yes, I'll be fine. The tree will be gone by the time you come back from L.A.

– You don't need to rush if you're not ready.

– Peter, I meant what I said. The tree will be gone by Sunday morning."

Peter didn't insist. Once I made up my mind about something, he knew I would follow through. Without another word, we went to the basement where Mr. Lime and his partner were waiting for us.

As usual, Mr. Lime led the conversation while Mr. Merchants folded their work sheets.

I hoped Peter was paying attention to all of this because my mind was not on the furnace. All I could do was smile and nod along, pretending to grasp the choices Mr. Lime and his partner had made. I am sure they had done a good job, and if they hadn't, I would not have been able to tell the difference.

"Well, I think that about covers about it." Mr. Lime said some time later. "Do you have any questions?"

When we didn't say anything, Mr. Lime probably saw how clueless we both were as he added:

"Do you want me to write any of this down?

– Well, maybe just emergency shutdown steps." Peter suggested.

I could tell Mr. Lime saw right through Peter's pretense.

"I'll write down the essential."

Judging by the look Mr. Merchants gave his partner, I don't think this was a part of their standard service offer. I was grateful for their flexibility and was suddenly glad I had let Mr. Merchants copy down Peter's chocolate cinnamon roll pancakes recipe. These were simply two hard working tradesmen that didn't mind going to extra mile to stand out from their competitors and here I was, worrying over pancakes!

Peter invited Mr. Lime back upstairs to go over their final bill in the dining room. I was about to follow them when I saw a box of Christmas decoration tucked in a corner. Well, I thought, that tree wasn't going to take itself down.

I grabbed the box and to dispel any misgiving I still had in regards to Mr. Merchants, I seized this opportunity to thank him for all his work.

"Just doing my job." he replied, closing their toolbox.

"You gave us great service. We really appreciate it.

– Harry and me, we're all about making it personal." he said, standing up with a wry smile.

I was once again left with the feeling Mr. Merchants was making fun of me, although I couldn't pinpoint to anything in particular in his attitude. As I walked up the stairs, I couldn't help but glance back at the man, but Mr. Merchants had already left by the backdoor. I had to use all my willpower to repress the impulse to lock it behind him. Shuddering, I climbed the rest of the stairs without another look back.

Luckily, my doubts were quickly extinguished by Mr. Lime's sense of organisation. He presented us with a complete file ready for our review with an itemized bill. All of their invoices had been dated and were listed in the same order as they did on the bill. Their work schedule for the entire week was also included with their hourly rate. I didn't see how Peter and I could question anything. Reviewing the bill was more of a formality as everything was in order.

We were taking out time, going through the bill when we heard a car hunk. We didn't pay it attention until Buzz came down, looking for Peter.

"Dad, your cab is here."

So soon? I doubled-check my watch and saw that Peter would indeed have to leave if he wanted to make his plane on time. Peter apologized at both Mr. Lime and me:

"I'm sorry, but I have to run. Kate, are you okay to finish here?

–We're almost done, it's fine."

Rising from my chair after Peter, I told Mr Lime:

"Would you excuse me for a minute? I'll be right with you.

– Take your time." the man graciously offered, even though he must've been eager to be on his way.

I noted that Buzz had chosen to see his father off with me instead of hollering his goodbyes from somewhere in the house. He hadn't done that in years.

Peter hastily put on his coat; Buzz handed him his briefcase; I reminded him of his wallet.

"Buzz, you think about what we discussed this morning." Peter recommended him.

"I will, Dad."

And from Buzz's tone, I knew he meant it. Peter and I exchanged a look. At least he had made some progress with our son.

I approached Peter and put my arms around his neck to better kiss him. No matter how much in a hurry we were, we always made time to kiss. It wasn't the passionate and blind kisses of our youth, but it was intimate and loving.

"I'll call you as soon as we land." he promised as we broke our embrace.

Suitcase in one hand, briefcase in another, Peter was half way through the door when I called back to him:

"Peter, you won't forget about… about the Christmas ornament?"

I saw him hesitate. Perhaps he thought I had forgotten our earlier conversation.

"For Linnie." I added to clarify. "It's tradition."

I knew my husband wouldn't refuse our daughter.

"I'll bring one back, I promise, Kate." turning to Mr. Lime he added: "It was pleasure doing business with you.

– Likewise. Have a safe trip." the man answered.

I watched Peter get into his taxi and closed the door behind him .Turning to Mr. Lime, I frown upon discovering that Chester had taken advantage of our distraction to circle the man. Our contractor did his best to ignore him and I wasn't proud to see that, instead of shooing Chester away, Buzz watched from the side.

"So, what kind of cat do you have?"

Unlike his partner, I had a feeling Mr. Lime was not a man to be pushed around, least of all by a teenager.

"A stray." he answered pushing Chester firmly back a few feet.

"And you only have the one?

– One is enough."

His answer had been polite, but there was sharpness to it that prevented Buzz from insisting.

"Buzz, please take Chester with you, can't you see he's bothering Mr. Lime?" I said, exasperated.

My son did not argue, and dragged Chester out of the dining room.

"I'm sorry about the delay. Where were we?

– We were going over general recommendation. It's important to schedule annual tune-ups for your furnace, even if it's new. This will help prevent future problems.

– We'll be sure to call you."

I didn't say that to be polite. Unlike past contractors, Mr. Lime and his partner had proved to be competent and trustworthy. I intended to call on their services in the future, which is why I was dishearten to hear him say:

"We appreciate the sentiment, but we're leaving Chicago.

– You are?

– Yes, some family matters came up and we are moving our business to take care of it."

I knew his partner and him weren't from Chicago, so this explanation didn't come as a surprise.

"Nothing too serious, I hope.

– Oh, no; we're leaving the big city, you know, to reconnect with the family."

Living in the city wasn't for everyone. That was the reason Peter and I had chosen to settle down in Winnetka, but the Village wasn't exactly affordable for everyone.

"You're leaving for the suburbs?

– A small town up north. Lots of fresh air and all that nature stuff.

– Well, I'm sure Mr. Merchants' son will enjoy the change of scenery.

– His _what_?" Mr. Lime snapped back.

I found myself stiffening under his sudden icy glare. His friendly demeanor had been replaced with a darker one that, for a moment, almost scared me.

"His son." I made myself repeat casually, refusing to succumb to my instinct to shrink back. "Mr. Merchants mentioned that he had a little boy when my husband gave him his pancake recipe."

Flustered, Mr. Lime mumbled under his breath:

"Oh, _him_."

What a peculiar way to speak of a child. Mr. Lime's features were still sharp, though he sounded more annoyed than angry.

"Doesn't… Mr. Merchant have a son?"

At first, I wasn't sure Mr. Lime would answer. He looked downright crossed at my question. I'll admit it wasn't my business, but what else could I say after such a perplexing exchange?

"My friend is taking care of a foster kid." he finally explained.

"A foster child?

– Yes. A little boy. He's … a difficult case. Major trust issues. My friend is trying to win him over. Not sure if pancakes are the way to go, but… who knows with kids."

Well, that explained the lack of consistency in Mr. Merchants' answers. I felt silly for… I wasn't sure what I had suspected.

How kind of Mr. Merchants to open up his home to a child in need. You heard all kinds of horror stories about the foster system; it was nice to hear that Mr. Merchants was making real efforts to build a home for a child. As much as I loved children, I'm not sure I would be capable of such generosity.

I also wished Mr. Merchants had offered that explanation himself. I would not have agonized over lending him Peter's recipe if he had. I liked the idea of a child bonding with his new family over those pancakes. What better way was there to build new memories?

To mask the awkwardness of the situation, I quickly wrote down my cheque and signed it. Handing to Mr. Lime, I added, smiling:

"I hope Mr. Merchants and his little boy will enjoy the pancakes.

"We'll see. My friend isn't a good cook." Mr. Lime mentioned, pocketing the cheque.

"Tell him the secret to drawing the cinnamon swirl is to wait until the batter starts to set. And to really push the cinnamon mix in the batter, not just on top.

– Thanks for the tip, I'll make sure to tell him."

Now that he had been paid, Mr. Lime didn't tarry. I accompanied him to the front door, expression our gratitude for their work:

"If you ever need recommendations, give us a call. My husband and I have clients all over the country; we can put in a good word for you, if you need it.

– Thank you, Mrs. McCallister. We appreciate it."

We shook hands one last time. I was careful not to squeeze his injured hand too hard.

"And if you ever come to Chicago, please let us know. We'd be happy to use your services again.

– That's nice of you to say so. And who knows, maybe we'll come back. This is such a nice neighborhood."

 _AN:_

 _I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I can't wait to get back to the main story. I'll just finish the next scene from Linnie's point of view and get back to Kevin._


	11. The Unsolved, Unsettling and Unexpected

_Hello!_

 _Here is finally Linnie's scene, the very first one I wrote in the "Broken Home" segment. I had to adapt it a bit after writing all the other scenes, but it's done! I thought I would've posted that scene in early summer, not October! I had another chapter planned for Halloween, but I guess this one will have to wait._

 _Enjoy!_

The Unsolved, Unsettling and Unexpected

 _June 1, 1991_

My bike at my side, I was walking through the park, lost in thoughts. I had ridden my bike earlier on my way to the library, but I wanted to take my time going home; needed to think.

It was a nice evening. The kind of evening that made you forget the summer holiday hadn't started yet. The days were longer now, and warmer. Summer break was a few weeks away; I could taste it. Everybody was distracted, some more than most.

That evening, the park was reflecting my mood. The place should've been crawling with kids playing frisbee, baseball or chasing each other in the wooden structures. Teenagers should've been hanging around with slushies from the nearest convenience store, or smoking around the picnic tables, but they were nowhere to be seen. There was an empty vibe around the park. It wasn't entirely empty; I could see a few joggers down the bike track, a couple walking their dogs and a few tennis players out in the court, but it wasn't bursting with energy.

The sound of laughter and voices from a nearby backyard carried across the empty landscape, and I could smell barbecue in the air. It was close to dinnertime, and I was getting hungry. I thought of how nice it would be to have a barbecue with my family. Megan had taken the patio chairs and table out, and I had helped her cleaned them, but our father hadn't taken the barbecue out of storage. I didn't think we would be having barbecue anytime soon. I let out a sigh. As hungry as I was, I was in no hurry to go home.

Home didn't feel like home anymore.

Not since Kevin had vanished.

That thought crossed my mind about a hundred times a day, if not more. I couldn't believe my brother was missing. Every time I thought about it, it would jolt me awake and bring me back to that Christmas morning.

While in France, I had been terribly worried about Kevin, all alone at home. I couldn't bear to imagine him all scared and wandering our empty house. I was older than Kevin, and I couldn't imagine myself spending the night alone, let alone three days! What would I eat? And it was the holidays; how could we spend Christmas in Paris while our mother and Kevin were home?

I had been so proud of myself after talking our father into flying us back home. Christmas is about family. It didn't make sense for us to be apart. And so, when our dad had booked a flight on Friday morning, I had packed my bag and kissed Paris goodbye. Going home would solve everything! Kevin might be angry with us for leaving him, but it would be nothing a few hugs and kisses couldn't fix. We would then celebrate Christmas the way it was supposed to be: together.

Nothing could've prepared me for the drama that would follow.

I couldn't turn to my friends to talk about all this. Not even after all this time. They didn't understand. How could they? They were always nice to me. Very nice. Painfully nice. They all treated me as if I was made of glass and could break at any moment. As well intentioned as they were, my girlfriends were crowding me. And when they weren't surrounding me, walking me to my every class like my personal bodyguards, they would whisper among themselves, and I knew they were talking about my family and me.

Talking to my parents was out of the question. I often found them too busy or too upset to discuss what was happening. Whenever they did mention Kevin, their words of comfort were clumsy and lacked the conviction to convince me everything would be all right. As for our grandmother, the only other adult I could've turned to for answers, she would defer to God and prayers whenever I tried to bring up Kevin. I know she meant well and I could see she thought she was being comforting, but it could be frustrating at times. God didn't give straight answers.

Sometimes, at night, I would crawl into bed with Megan and we would whisper to one another in the dark. Megan was the only one I could open up to, the only one who understood. But talking about Kevin wasn't always easy; our discussion would often feed our own sadness and fears. We would wonder if our brother was okay. One of us would always be quick to say that, of course, Kevin was all right, but I don't think either of us believed it.

With the atmosphere in our house so depressing, any excuse to spent time away was welcomed. I chose to hide at the library. No one bothered me there.

My family knew I spent a lot of time at the library.

But they didn't know why.

At first, the library had been an excuse. I had always been a good student and no one thought it was strange for me to spend time there. After a while, I realised that the library could provide me with much more than a sanctuary. No one would tell me anything? Fine! I was a smart girl; I'd find the answers myself!

That's how I had adopted a new hobby.

A new hobby I knew no one would approve of.

I set my bike down in the sand and sat on one of the swings, letting my backpack fall at my feet. I dug into it and retrieved my notebook. I didn't open right away. Looking down at it, I saw how the sunlight danced off my new ring. It was a gold ring with a beautiful oval cut emerald, my birthstone. It matched the necklace and earrings my parents had also given me for my birthday. I liked jewelry, and my parents knew it. I ought to be grateful for these gifts, and I was, I really was, but I was also disappointed.

Jewelry was not what I had asked for my birthday.

It wasn't my parents' fault. How could I tell them that what I had been praying for had been for Kevin to come home? That's all I wanted, all I asked. No jewelry, birthday party or cake, just Kevin. My little brother would've been the perfect gift, and not only because it would stop my parents from being sad all the time.

On Sunday morning, I had woken up with this feeling of happiness that didn't have anything to do with my birthday. Today would be the day, I had thought. Kevin would be back, I just knew it. All day long, I had awaited a call, _the_ call that would make my birthday the happiest day ever. With some luck, we might have Kevin back on time to go out for dinner tonight!

The day had started out perfectly. I had been in a generous mood and didn't even care that Jeff had eaten the last raspberry yogurt cup, my favourite. After breakfast, I had accompanied my grandmother to church, instead of watching cartoons, which I knew pleased her.

Later that morning, my father had come back from his business trip. His plane had not been delayed and from what I gathered, his business trip had been a success. The stars, I felt, were aligning. The whole family was present and I was confident the call would come at any moment.

The hours had dragged on without any call. By mid-afternoon, I had become restless. I had jumped on the phone every time it would ring and kept an eye out for cars on the street, but nothing. When the time had come to get ready for dinner, I had become anxious. I didn't want to go out anymore. What if we missed the detective's call? Someone needed to stay home, the detective could call any minute! I hadn't explained this to my parents or my siblings. I knew it would've sounded crazy. I had put on my new dress and had let Megan do my hair, pretending to be excited about the upcoming evening.

I almost regretted that my parents had taken us to this chic French restaurant downtown. I loved French cuisine, but I wasn't in the mood to appreciate it. My parents often went to that restaurant, and my father took many of his clients there, but it was the first they had taken the whole family. The restaurant was located on the 40th floor of the Chicago stock exchange and we had a breathtaking view of the city below. My frame of mind had not kept me from admiring the city lights. I had tried to relax and enjoy myself, but I couldn't wait for the evening to end.

On the drive back home, I had held my breath as we approached our street, expecting to see a police car in the driveway, or someone on our front porch waiting for us. I had been annoyed upon discovering that there was no one there. What was the hold up? How long would they keep us waiting? I wasn't sure who "they" were supposed to be; the police? The detectives? The universe? Somebody was letting me down and I wasn't amused. Didn't premonitions mean anything anymore?

As disappointed as I had been, I had not let that discourage me and had run to the phone to check our voicemail. I had almost let out of cry of triumph upon discovering the flashing red light indicating new messages, only for my hopes to be crushed as I listened to my aunt Leslie and uncle Frank, signing me happy birthday.

I guess it had been stupid of me to think I would have my wish. I wasn't special. My birthday wasn't special. Wishing for something didn't make a difference.

I had not shared my disappointment with my family. As far as everybody had been concerned, we had had a lovely evening. I didn't want to spoil the day by revealing how perfectly perfect it could've been, had I had my wish.

Opening my notebook on my knees, I scolded myself for not knowing any better. I wasn't a child anymore. I was thirteen-years-old and I ought to know better than to believe in something as foolish as wish making. After all, I thought as I stared dispassionately at my notebook's content, if there was one thing my new hobby had taught me, it was that children vanished without a trace _all the time_.

In the span of a few weeks, I had filled my notebook with photocopies, news articles, pictures and notes that I had researched, all about abducted children. Had my parents or one of my teachers found my notebook, I might've gotten into trouble, which is why I usually kept it hidden at the bottom of my bag. I didn't tell Megan about it. I didn't think she would've been mad, but my sister probably would've thought it was morbid and made me throw my notebook away.

In all honestly, I wasn't fond of my new hobby. My research revealed too much, but I couldn't help going over its content over and over. I knew most of it by heart now, but I still flipped through my notebook. At the beginning of my research, I had never thought I would find so much information. There were so many stories, many more than I ever could've imagined. Real-life horror stories, tragedies and cautionary tales. My anthology was ugly and disturbing, but it was also honest and true.

I had been looking for hope.

What I had found was… heartbreaking.

Going through old newspaper articles, I had been bemused by the number of abduction attempts reported every year. Our parents had not been lying or making up stories when they warned us not to follow strangers on the promise of candy or puppies. A good number of would-be kidnappers still used those tricks to lure children in their cars. Others were disturbingly bolder, going as far as to make a grab for children off their driveway as they were taking out the trash, or right in front of their parents! I regretted not taking our parents' warnings more seriously.

Most of the stories I found were about attempted kidnapping, but to my dismay, I also found out that Kevin was not the first child to be abducted right here in Chicago. I had been particularly disturbed by a 1930's case of a two-years-old little girl who had been kidnapped by a woman. What was troubling was that her kidnapping had never been solved, even though the girl's mother had provided the police with a complete description and name of the kidnapper! What chance did Kevin stand when we had less clues?

Not a decade ago, Chicago had been the scene of another abduction, that of eight-year-old Trishia Kellett. Not unlike Kevin, the girl had blond hair and blue eyes and was said to be lively. No one knew what had happened to her, although some neighbors claimed to have seen her get into a man's car. My brother never would've followed a stranger; he was smarter than that. And yet, it hadn't saved him. After reading so many abduction cases, I realised that a kidnapping didn't have anything to do with cleverness; those children had been victims of circumstances, really.

Just like Kevin.

I turned a page and stared at seven-years-old Janice Pockett. She had disappeared while out on her bike. She had probably thought herself safe in her neighborhood. Her bike had been found less than a mile from her house. Little Janice Pockett had never been seen again…

I felt a chill run down my spine and I glanced fearfully around myself, suddenly aware of how empty the park was. The tennis players had packed their belongings and had left. The joggers were out of sight and there was only a lone woman walking her dog all by herself further down the path.

I should go home. If one thing all these stories had taught me, it was that being all by oneself in the park, even if it was still daylight was not prudent. Of course, there wasn't always safety in number, I thought, recalling the case of the two Lyon's sisters who had vanished on a trip to the mall, or the case of nine-years-old Michaela Garecht, who had been abducted right in front of her friend in a parking lot.

Many abducted children had been girls, but that did not mean boys were safer. Not a year ago, eleven years-old Jacob Wetterling had been walking to the video store with his younger brother and a friend when he had been abducted at gunpoint. No one had seen the boy since.

Come to think of it, going out at night didn't seem dangerous anymore. Most of the kidnapping cases I had read had taken place in broad daylight, such as six-year-old Etan Patz, who had disappeared on his way to the school bus stop.

I looked at the boy's picture, one of the rare cases I vaguely remembered. His face had been printed on milk cartons for years. With his playful smile, the boy reminded me of Kevin. I used to think he was must've been a star, with his picture shown everywhere… How disturbing to think that we used to have milk cartons on the table every morning with young Etan Patz smiling at us, and we never asked about that boy. Our parents never explained. I'm not sure they noticed the picture; it had been a part of the background, like the puzzles behind our cereal boxes. Etan Patz, as all the others, had never been found.

Some stories did not have such a tragic end. Reading about Steven Stayner's abduction had, well… not exactly given me hope, but he had been found _alive_. The boy had been abducted on his way back from school when he was seven-years-old. He had been held captive and abused for years by a very bad man.

A child molester.

I frown slightly. I understood what that term meant, but it was so… disgusting. I knew better than to wish, but I hoped with all my heart that Kevin had not fallen prey to such a man. I didn't want anyone to hurt Kevin and definitely not the way Steven Stayner had been.

It had taken the boy eight years, eight long years, but he _had_ escaped. I could not imagine how lonely and scared he must've been all this time. By then, his kidnapper had abducted another boy. This act is what had motivated Steven Stayner to escape. He hadn't wanted another child go through what he had. One night, he had courageously escaped with the boy, walking all the way to a police station. Their story had had a happy ending… sort of. It didn't erase the abuse Steven Stayner had endured, or made up for the lost years. He had died two years ago…

I hadn't liked what all this research had brought to light. So many kids had gone missing over the years, so few had been found… It disturbed me to think that my brother was now a part of those missing children stories. Would people one day look at Kevin's case the way I was investigating those older ones? Would people one day walk past Kevin's missing posters without seeing them anymore?

"You're one of the McCallister kids, aren't ya?" came a deep voice from behind me.

I jumped to my feet, dropping my notebook in the process. I turned around and saw that a man was standing a few feet away. My mind screamed _Danger!_ and I was ready to run all the way home, until I saw that the man bore a Chicago police badge, gun and holster. The man wasn't wearing a police uniform, but I had seen enough detectives over the past months to recognize one. I breathed easier and wanted to laugh at my own fright; all this digging in abduction cases had made me paranoid.

"Yes, I'm one of the McCallisters." I replied, annoyed at myself for being frightened.

I retrieved my notebook, which had fallen half-open in the sand, but a few pages caught in the wind and flew out.

"Oh no!"

The detective was quick and caught the pages as it flew past him. One of them was some news articles, but the other one was a picture of Etan Patz. I saw the detective cock an eyebrow as he looked at the picture.

"What are you doing with that, girl?

– Nothing." I shrugged, but I could feel my cheeks burning. "It's just a picture." I said, walking to the man to get the pages back.

"Just a picture? Of a kids who's been missing for over ten years?

– You know about him?

– There aren't many cops my age that won't remember the missing New York kid.

– Etan Patz." I said, cramming the picture back in my notebook.

It felt important to say his name. That boy deserved to be remembered as more than a picture or a sordid story. Just like my brother.

"The Patz boy, right." the detective repeated in a handoff manner. "You shouldn't read that stuff. It'll give you nightmares, McCallister girl.

– _McCallister girl_?" I scoffed, tossing my blond hair over my shoulder. "I have a name!"

The detective did not seem embarrassed by my rebuke. He grinned and chucked to himself.

"Fine, what's your name, girl?

– Linnie." I answered curtly, but politely.

My parents had thought me good manners. The detective's audacity was surprising; most of them knew better than to speak to any of us without the presence of our parents. Our relation with the police force was still strained, even if it had improved since detective Kincaid had been assigned to my brother's case.

"Linnie?" the detective repeated. "Short for Linda?"

I winced. I hated that name. It was an old lady's name.

"No one calls me that." I informed the man.

"Really? Why not? Don't you know it means 'beautiful'?"

I cocked my head to the side. I did not know that. Maybe Linda was not such a bad name after all.

"So, what are you doing all by yourself, girl?

– Nothing" peering up at him, I then asked, "Are you keeping an eye on my family?

– Yeah, I guess you could say that.

– My parents didn't do it, you know." I said accusingly. "You should be out there looking for my brother, not wasting your time on us."

I knew what some people were saying behind our backs. I knew the police had interrogated my parents, and all the horrible rumors that were running around. I could read the newspaper and I wasn't deaf. To my astonishment, the detective's grin widened.

"Tou-chy!" he said before lighting himself a cigarette. "Calm down, girl. I know your parents didn't do nothing.

– You do? You're not saying that cause I'm a kid, are you?"

Adults could be silly that way.

"No. I can tell when someone's hiding something. If your parents are guilty of anything, it's of being dumb enough to leave your kid brother behind, that's all."

The detective's statement left me speechless. On one hand, I was furious and hurt to hear him call my parents dumb, but on the other, I was glad to see not everybody believed they were monsters who had covered their own child's murder by pretending he had been kidnapped.

"My parents are _good_ parents. They just… made a mistake." I said, holding back my tears.

The detective smoke in silent for a moment, watching me.

"I know why your parents are feeling guilty, but why are you?"

I lowered my eyes. Was it that oblivious? I felt guilty for the same reason we all felt guilty about Kevin.

"It's nothing.

– Nothing huh? Let me guess, you're beating yourself up over a bunch of "if only", am I right?"

The man did not wait for me to answer before continuing:

"You're thinking, "if only I'd noticed he wasn't in the car; If only I'd remembered he was sleeping on the third floor; if only I'd been paying attention. If only, if only, if only. You could go on forever, and it'll drive you nuts. You didn't do anything wrong. You're a kid, there's nothing _you_ could've done."

The man had a strange way of going about it, and as casual as he sounded about the whole situation, I still found his words comforting. Everybody said it wasn't our fault, it was nothing I hadn't heard before, but it was the first time I ever came close to believing it.

"But we forgot him." I smiled weakly through my tears. I was surprised I still had any tears left to cry after all these months. "We all did. What kind of family does that?"

The detective scratched his cheek, drawing my attention to an old scar. I vaguely wondered how it had happened. It didn't look like a gunshot wound. A knife fight? Being a detective must be dangerous, but so exciting! I looked away before he noticed I had been starring. It wasn't polite to stare at people.

"It happens." he finally shrugged, blowing some smoke through his nose.

I wiped my tears away, perplexed by his answer. Leaving a child behind by mistake was not something that just happened.

"Did _you_ ever forget one of your kids while on holiday?

– Oh, I don't have kids. But I do have siblings. Three brothers. And my parents did forget the youngest one, once.

– They did? Where?"

I did not understand the mirthful gleam in the detective's eyes.

"At church.

– Your parents forgot your brother at _church_?

– Yeah. At the midnight service on Christmas Eve, of all nights.

– No!" I gasped, horrified. "What happened? When did you notice he was missing?"

The man frankly laughed at my shock.

"We never did. The house was packed with relatives. My parents were busy entertaining and feeding all our guests, we kids were running wild. No one missed one measly brat. One of our neighbors recognised my crying brother in the church's parking lot and brought him back home.

– That's horrible!

– He was fine. He got over it. It's a fun family anecdote now. The point is, that sort of thing happens. People don't talk about it, or admit it, but it happens. Your family was darn unlucky, that's all. Why do you think people talk about your brother? They may act all smug and superior, pretend all they want that it could never happen to them, but deep down, they know how lucky they've been. Every family has a similar story."

No one had ever said so. It didn't change anything, but knowing that our family wasn't the only messed up one out there did make me feel better.

"Do you think they'll find him? My brother, I mean…" I suddenly asked.

I liked the detective's frankness. He didn't treat me like a child that needed to be protected from the truth. His answer proved it.

"After all this time? I don't think so. It could happen, but I wouldn't count on it."

I hung my head. I had figured as much.

"Why did they take him!" I raged for the millionth time. "Kevin's just a kid!

– Cause he was there."

The man's answer was so simple, so plain, yet so chilling. You couldn't argue with that logic.

"Listen, girl; this was no conspiracy. Some burglars hit jackpot with an empty neighborhood. Your house is the biggest on the block. They must've figured it would be one quick easy score. They break in, and find your brother. He probably got a good look at them. They're in trouble, and they know it. They panic. They grab him and run. As simple as that."

As simple as that? He sure had a funny way of looking at the situation. Kevin must've been so afraid!

"What- Do you think my brother's alive?"

The detective drew one last time on his cigarette, pondering my question. Was he wondering how much he could tell me without frightening me?

"If he was, I bet you'd want to see him again, wouldn't ya?

– Well yeah, I'd do anything to see my brother again!" I replied in earnest.

The detective smiled and threw his cigarette in the sand as I heard someone call my name:

"Linnie!"

I turned around to see Buzz walking up to the two of us. Uh oh. I knew that look on his face.

"What are you doing here! Mom's worried sick looking for you!

– It's not dark yet." I protested, but grabbed my bag and quickly stuffed my notebook inside.

"Don't worry, boy. I was keeping an eye on her." said the detective.

Buzz had ignored the man up until that point. I saw him sneer and wanted to die of embarrassment. My brother did not forget how poorly our parents had been treated by the police force. He made it no secret that he hated cops, all cops, whether they wore a uniform or not.

"And _you_ are?" he asked, none too nicely.

"Detective Lime. Sydney Lime.

– My sister doesn't need you, _Detective_. None of us do. Come on, Linnie; let's go home."

I was mortified by his attitude. Buzz would be in so much trouble if our parents had heard him speak to anyone that way, detective or not. I grabbed my bike and walked back to Detective Lime.

"Sorry about my brother. He's not usually this rude. He's upset, about our brother.

– Don't worry about me, I get it. He's looking out for you. I'd do the same thing for any of my brothers, no matter how old we are."

The detective's smile as he said this was intimidating, but I suppose he was real nice deep down if he cared that much for his brothers.

"Thanks… for the talk. It helps.

– My pleasure. I think I'll be seeing you, McCallister girl."

 _AN:_

 _Well, I hope you liked that chapter! Since I always saw Linnie as the brains of the family, I thought it would be fun for her to exploit the library to get more information on child abduction._

 _Many of the cases mentioned in this scene have been resolved over the years, but they had not been in 1991_

 _Fun fact, Sid's story about his little brother being left behind at Church on Christmas Eve is a true story! It happened to one of my friend when she was just a child. Just like Sid's brother, she got over it. She even says it was fun to use that story to emotionally blackmail her parents for a while._


End file.
